A New Reality
by honeybises
Summary: Katniss, Peeta, & Haymitch find themselves having to face a new reality as they try to rebuild their lives in the new government. They must discover who they are apart from the Hunger Games but can never seem to escape exploitation by Big Brother. When Katniss discovers a secret, she must choose whether or not to leave 12 to regain control over her own life. Post-MJ, pre-epilogue.
1. Chapter One

CHAPTER 1

Every day I wake up disoriented with a feeling of impending doom. I snap awake, examine my surroundings, and inhale the stale air slowly, cautiously. I forcibly tense my muscles and then try to imagine them turning to gelatin, melting in the sun of a hazy August afternoon in the Seam. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am nineteen years old. I was in the 74__th__ and 75__th__ Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. I killed President Coin. President Snow is dead. I am in District 12 now. I am safe. _My eyes warily float to the ceiling above me and trace a line from the center of the room to the cracking baseboards. A sudden sense of dread begins to melt what had once been a floating ball of calm in my chest. _Prim is dead. Peeta is…_

Peeta. The name sounds so far away. The old Peeta, the reliable Peeta, the safe and noble Peeta has disappeared into my past like so many of those I had grown to trust; the only difference is that part of him still lives on, forced to live out the rest of his days in the nightmare that is the aftermath of the spark ignited by a kiss.

_I killed Prim. I killed Peeta. _ Both so innocent and so changed following the dangerous games we had played. Few things, I imagine, can feel as terrible as striving to protect the lives and innocence of two people whom one loves, only to be forced to live in the shell of one's former self. Without either of them. I stare contemplating at my dirty, jagged fingernails. What value can my life possibly hold now? I lived out my worth as a political pawn, an "It" girl, a star-crossed lover, a sister, a daughter.

Not once in my exile to District 12 has my mother come to see me. Is she ashamed of me? When she looks at me, does she only think, "If only it had been you instead of Prim." Does she not look at me and know that I think the same? It's so unbearable and lonely that I question whether Peeta's interception of my self-preserving suicide was an act of determined love or determined hatred.

I haven't committed suicide yet only because I am under 24-hour suicide watch which requires constant supervision from either Greasy Sae or Haymitch. At night, I'm tied into soft restraints. It's in exchange for acquittal, for my life, Dr. Aurelius reminds me. He won't discharge the orders until he deems that I am no longer a risk to myself or to others and he has no way of determining this as I have severed communications with him. To his credit, he has not reported me to the judge. Most days, anyway, I'm too crippled by depression to be able to formulate any sort of plan. Part of my prescription was to continue with my hunting as it had always been therapeutic. Now, though, my limbs sink into the bed and feel like concrete. Dust has settled on my quiver.

7 AM. Haymitch appears at my bedside cursing. "I am through with this _sweetheart_," he hisses, his breath carrying notes of gin. He snarls and his teeth are still stained from the copious amounts of red wine he's consumed. He carelessly unties the restraints, opening some sores that have formed on my wrists.

I stare through him. He is transparent. He grabs my sorry wrists and pulls me into a seated position, nearly loosening my shoulders from the sockets. He grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger and pulls my face closer to his.

"I know how you feel (don't you think I was there?) but this needs to end. You are not a vegetable and I am _not_ a babysitter. You need to pull your sorry self together."  
I continue to stare through him. "What a waste. Your little beloved sister is dead while you are afforded the opportunity to live and you do it by simply existing."

The mention of Prim snaps me out of it and I fly at Haymitch in a blind rage. Anticipating this response, he bear hugs me, pinning my arms down at my side. I wonder to myself how his movements and responses can be so quick and precise when he's spent the majority of his life destroying his motor coordination with drink. Then I look down at my arms and legs which are so wasted away from disuse and malnourishment that I can barely support my own weight.

"Look at you, Katniss," Haymitch softens his tone. "You, the Mockingjay, the Girl on Fire. You defeated two oppressive dictators. Where is your fire now?"

He releases me and I crumple into a heap on the floor. The waves of sobs overwhelm me until my head is pounding and my ears are ringing. Haymitch stands there silently for what seems like forever, studying me carefully.

"My fire was gone, too until you and Peeta came along. Until you find your fire again, I've brought you something to keep you warm. The train came in today." Ah, well that explains the confrontation and why Haymitch reeks of alcohol. I begrudgingly turn, expecting to find Haymitch offering me a handle. Yet when I turn, I find only his upturned fist, his swollen fingers curled in on something small. I look up at him questioningly and he opens his fist. A small, pink pill was delicately cradled in the palm of his hand. I knew it well.

Morphling.

In the matter of a few seconds, I consider the ramifications of accepting Haymitch's offer. I could become a jaundiced, wirey shell of a human being and live only for the next high; however, the alternative was to remain an emaciated depressed shell of a human being and live waiting for death. Well, what would anyone do? I chose the high.


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER 2

I spend the next few weeks in a perpetual state of euphoric haze. Life is bright. Life is beautiful. I think these things when I am conscious at least. Most of the time I am so drugged that I feel too dizzy and drowsy to do much but sit around or sleep. This excuses Haymitch and Greasy Sae from the need to be constantly vigilant on the off chance that I should develop more of a thirst for blood, murderer that I am.

I don't know if Haymitch was so bored during his stint as a sitter for a mentally unstable adolescent that he began to formulate a business plan, but he and Greasy Sae seize the opportunity of my drugged haze to remodel one of the larger houses in the Victors Village into a functioning diner of sorts. At the time, I was far too itchy and ambivalent to even question it, but Haymitch must have put two and two together after he realized the liquor would soon run out unless he could procure a sizeable income to support his (and my) habits.

In the newborn government and economic system, things function a bit differently. This new system works in everyone's favor with the exception of the Victors. Now that the Capitol and its dictatorship have been overthrown, the Victors are all of a sudden finding themselves without their monthly stipends. Most Victors, emotionally damaged as they may be, at least went on to continue the family business post-Games. Haymitch went on being Haymitch. With Greasy Sae's resourcefulness and skill (shady though it may be) to make a filling, tasty meal and Haymitch's sudden interest in goose husbandry, it seems natural that the two should become business partners.

As the project is nearing completion and my morphling supply is beginning to dwindle, Haymitch enters my room with an ultimatum. At this time, I'm in between periods of vomiting and drowning in my own perspiration as the effects of morphling withdrawal are beginning to set in.

"How's the morphling treating you, sweetie?" He questions with a sly grin on his face. As always, I know something is motivating his visit today.

"What do you want, Haymitch?" I curtly reply.  
"Easy!" he says. "Why, haven't I taken good care of you? I'm surprised you're not calling me daddy at this point."  
I try to lunge at him but severe abdominal cramps and nausea overcome me.

"Looks like you need a little pink pill," he chuckles.  
"What do you want?" I repeat.  
"Look, I know what you need. You know what I need. We're the same person after all."  
"I am nothing like you."  
"You are just like me. And just like me, you need a little something to make a little thing called life less of a nightmare. You know we don't have our stipends anymore. We're broke, sweetheart."  
"So what do we do? What do you want me to do?" I manage between chattering teeth.  
"I need you to get it together and help Greasy Sae and me. You need to hunt like you used to. You need to go through that book of yours…the one with the plants. You, me, Greasy Sae, and Peeta can use what we already know to pull this together so we can actually have a livable life in District 12."

My annoyance gives way to curiosity.  
"Peeta? Peeta's in the hospital in the Capitol."  
"Peeta's days ran out."  
"What? What does that mean?"  
"Under the new system," Haymitch explains, "Citizens are offered so many days of treatment for whatever their problem is. Once those days are up, you're out whether you're cured or not."  
"So Peeta isn't cured?"  
Haymitch sighs. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. He's coming back to District 12."  
"Why would he come back here? There's nothing here."  
"Why did _you_ come back, Katniss?"

Good question. Why _had_ I come back? Did I think that if I had returned to District 12 the clock would somehow be reset to three years ago? The truth is, though, that there is no place for a Victor. Not now and not ever. Life is forever changed after the arena but District 12 is the closest I can get to having my first life back.

Haymitch grew impatient with my pensive silence. "Well anyway, I'll be in charge of the geese and anything with any sort of alcohol content. You'll be in charge of game and farming. Peeta can manage making bread and stuff. Greasy Sae will make it all come together. We'll have a nice little set-up, the four of us. A diner. Cheap, tasteless eats for cheap tasteless people, by cheap tasteless people."

"Wow. It's idyllic, really," I dryly offer.

"Do it or we'll be forced to live in the present reality," Haymitch threatens.

I roll over in my bed. "I'll do it tomorrow, okay? Leave me alone for the rest of today, Haymitch."

"Fine," he says. Then, after a pause in which he was clearly trying to think of some jab, "Remember, you can call me 'Pa' now."

My shoe makes a loud thud against the wood of the door just as its intended target closes the door behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER 3

I'm not certain what day it is and I can't really say that I care much. Haymitch wakes me from my perpetual nap (now interspersed with periods of vomiting and chills due to the withdrawal) to remind me that we needed to get to the train station.

"And would you shower and brush your hair and teeth for Pete's sake? Don't embarrass yourself."

I reluctantly follow his orders and put on a simple gray sundress. The drab color both reflects my current life situation while simultaneously complementing my eyes. I tie my hair back in a ribbon and examine myself in the mirror. I'm much thinner and paler than I remember. I look ill. I rummage through my dresser to find the bag filled with what I'm certain is expired cosmetics from the Victory Tour a few years ago. I find some color for my cheeks and lips to bring my complexion back to life and line my eyes to coax them out of their hollows. Certainly not Victory Tour material, but it'll do.

I sleepily follow Haymitch to the train station, stopping mid-stride as I remember that Peeta will be accompanying my next high. I can't decide whether this will make the high better or if it will only bring me down. I suspect the latter.

"Katniss!" Haymitch hisses after me. I break into a light jog in order to catch up to him and am surprised to discover how easily I am out of breath. Gasping for air, I make my way to the platform as the train is pulling into the station. The breeze from the incoming vehicle makes me shiver even more and I shudder. Haymitch glances at me with a mixture of concern and annoyance. I wish he'd just go away.

The doors open. One, two, four, eight people disembark and then I see him. I'd expected someone similar to myself: broken, sullen, sunken into himself. However, an upright, robust, and practically glowing young man stands before me. He waves to Haymitch who glances at me. Then Peeta stops. His smile fades as he looks me over. Then, a spark of realization comes over him.

"Katniss?"  
I stare at him blankly. I reach deep inside of myself to retrieve some sort of feeling—anything—but I come up empty-handed. I feel numb. Nothing.  
Neither of us quite certain how to react, we find ourselves in an awkward, disingenuous embrace. Still though, the warmth of his body feels nice and wards away the goosebumps of withdrawal.  
Haymitch exchanges money with an impatient, unkempt man who hands over a heavy, clinking box and a muslin bag. Haymitch, beaming in anticipation of his upcoming drunken stupor, tosses the bag over to me.  
"Here ya go, babe."

Peeta looks down at the bag and then closely at my eyes. It wasn't a loving or a searching gaze. I knew perfectly well that he now saw how my pupils narrowed to a nearly undetectable diameter. He steps away from me and I again feel the shiver return.

"This whole time I wondered to myself how you could have possibly left the medical care of the Capitol, how you could possibly be coping. I assumed it was because you are much stronger, more resilient than I am."  
I stand silent, staring just past his shoulder. I can't meet his eyes.

We walk back to the Victors' Village where Haymitch and I help Peeta get settled in his own home. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and openly and unashamedly swallow a morphling capsule. I look into Peeta's eyes defiantly as I do, holding his disapproving gaze.  
I return to my task of folding and putting away his clothes while Haymitch gets started on his first bottle of whiskey. The high of the morphling begins to set in and I find myself becoming dizzy. I steady myself on the edge of Peeta's bed and hold the undershirt I had been folding to my face to block out the spinning room. I inhale deeply and am overwhelmed by the smell of him. Memories of his warmth, his kindness, his goodness and honesty envelope me and I sink to the floor with tears in my eyes. Peeta kneels and places a gentle and steady hand on my shoulder.

"Are you all right?"  
I can't look at him. I sink my head deeper between my knees and shake my head.  
"I'm just dizzy is all," I manage between silent sobs.  
Now he kneels directly in front of me, placing his hands firmly on each shoulder.  
"Katniss, listen to me. You need help."  
I try to push him away but my weakness would be laughable if it weren't so pathetic.  
"No, listen. I know you haven't been compliant with your telesessions with Dr. Aurelius."  
I cup my hands over my ears. Peeta wraps his strong arms around me and I just can't fight it: I can't force his arms off me and I can't stave away the sobs that rack my entire, exhausted body. Peeta holds me to him tightly.  
"Katniss, Katniss," he whispers as he presses my head to his chest. "Come back to me."

I am so ashamed that I am completely falling apart in front of Peeta of all people; we've always kept each other strong. But I just surrender to the tears and grief that I had not let myself experience.

"Please, please call Dr. Aurelius," Peeta urges as he gently rocks my cold, clammy body. "I know it doesn't change anything for us. We can't go back. Our lives have been torn from us. But he can help you to move forward."  
Not having the strength or breath to say anything in response, I simply shake my head.  
"Katniss, you are stuck. You are exactly where you were one year ago. You have to start moving forward. Don't make everything we've gone through, everything we've done pointless. You have to believe that you did it to make a better life for yourself. Well, where is this life?"

I really wasn't sure why I had done it. I was a child. I was thrown into something that I had not completely understood and was largely kept in the dark by the big political players at the time. I was a pawn in every sense of the word except that I was an incredibly powerful pawn. I stumbled through a revolution as its sort of virgin huntress figurehead. I felt used. I had not been fully informed. I didn't realize or even give thought to the consequences of any of my actions. I acted on impulse. Like in the arena, like in District 12, I did what I needed to do to _survive_.

"If you want, I can be there for the first session or any of the sessions. Maybe it would even be therapeutic for me, who knows?" He squeezes my hand reassuringly. "Please just try. I know how it feels. You feel powerless and manipulated. Moreover, it's hard to know what's reality and what's not. It's hard to know who you can trust. It feels awful and it's hard work, but it's worth it. Please promise me you'll call."

"I'll call." I squeeze his hand back and we sit there like that for a minute in complete silence. I inhale and try to regulate my breathing.  
"Peeta?"  
"Yeah."  
"I'm really sorry I wasn't there for you when you were going through all that. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you sort things out."  
He says nothing for a moment and I know he's thinking of some honest response that wouldn't entirely rip me apart.  
"I would have liked you there. But initially, you were a part of it all. You couldn't be there. I hated you. Even when I knew which were real memories and what had been implanted. I had to let that go."  
"Hated me?" I looked up at him.  
"Katniss. I know we were just kids but…I loved you to the point of unquestionably being nothing short of suicidal in order to preserve your life and your…your…whatever it is you have—well, had. I gave you all of me and I didn't get much back, really."

I'm speechless but I know he's right. He continues.

"That time in the cave…your loving glances, your kisses, your gentleness. I bought into all of it and it was just for the cameras? You were playing to the audience so you wouldn't die."  
"So _we_ wouldn't die. I did it for both of us! I was just following orders, Peeta. Just following orders in all the Hunger Games. Just following orders in the Rebellion."  
"Well yeah. And then, and I know it was a difficult time but…to see you kiss Gale like that. I _did_ die."  
I stare at him, astonished, as he looked past me at the dusty wall.

"No. No. Don't make yourself the victim here and blame me. We were both victims. You _cannot_ blame me for feeling hurt because of your feelings for me. Take some ownership here."  
I'm starting to feel angry, the first genuine emotion I've experienced since the rapid and vicious onset of depression. Peeta continues.  
"It feels so long ago now and, like I said, we were just kids…hormones and all. But there came to be a time when you and Haymitch were essentially the only family I had. But they made you into the Mockingjay and then you were gone from me. And you've never come back."

Regardless of whatever blame and hatred Peeta still harbors for me, I knew that this at least is true. I _haven't _come back.

We sat next to each other in silence for a long while, taking in the work we still had yet to do in the room.

"Do you still hate me?" I ask him, meekly.  
"No," he states simply.  
"Do you still love me?" I question in a barely audible voice.  
A minute or two passes and I think to myself that Peeta had thankfully not heard me.  
"No," he murmurs back. Our eyes meet. "I don't think I could love anybody anymore…not after everything we've lost."

A strange mixture of relief and sadness melts in my throat, threatening to bring up my breakfast.  
"I don't think I could, either," I say. I neatly fold creases into the now crumpled undershirt and we silently return to our work.

And that night, as I am settling into my bed for the night, Peeta assists Haymitch in fastening the prescribed soft restraints.


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER 4

The following morning, I connect with Dr. Aurelius through our large telemonitor that was once used to broadcast propaganda from the Capitol. It turns out that the telemonitors in each home in each district were rigged to also be used as spy cameras; it didn't take much modification to utilize them for therapeutic telesessions.

"Good morning," he beams with far too much enthusiasm. "I see Peeta delivered my message to you."  
"Yeah," is all I can say.  
"Good. I'm glad to have you back as my patient."

There is uncomfortable silence for a moment until I break it by clearing my ever tightening throat.

"Shall we begin?" he asks, clasping his hands beneath his cleanly shaven, sharp chin.  
"Where do we start?"  
"What do you hope to gain from this experience? What are your goals?"

My _goals_? The last goals I had had were simple 1) stay alive and 2) kill President Snow. I really don't know how I can answer or if I have even created any goals since the war. I think about what Peeta had said.

"Well, I've had two lives."  
"Two lives?"  
"Yes. Pre-berries and post-berries."

Dr. Aurelius sits silently, studying my face, waiting for me to elaborate.

"In my first life, I focused my energy on keeping my sister and myself alive; my sister first, myself second. It was simple. I kept my sister alive and then I had to worry about keeping myself alive."  
I pause thoughtfully.  
"And then, all of a sudden, when it was time for Peeta and I to kill each other, I still couldn't put myself first. That's why I suggested the double suicide."  
"And your second life?"  
"In my second life, somehow the order of things changed. All of a sudden it became the Rebellion above all else, then Peeta, then Prim, then myself."

Where am I going with this? Dr. Aurelius sits motionless, open and all ears.

"The Rebellion survived. The other three: Peeta, Prim, myself…we're all dead."  
"I'm sorry about your sister," he said. "But you have to know that Peeta was only wounded and he is healing well."  
"Prim is dead. Peeta is not the boy of the 74th Hunger Games."

"So if I'm understanding correctly," Dr. Aurelius offers, "You are saying that without your family, the two people you love above yourself, life does not feel worth living."  
"No," I respond quietly. "He's not my husband. There was no baby. We lied to an entire nation."  
I feel hot shame rise up in me and cool once the tears stream down my face.  
"I know," he says. "Peeta told me everything."  
"If I had not fooled myself into loving Peeta in order to preserve both our lives, none of this would have happened. Prim would still be alive."  
"Perhaps. But you are thinking in a conditional sense. Katniss, think about what the larger result has been."  
"What?"  
"You tell me. Who has been saved?"

I think about it and I remember why I had even gone along with the charade in the first place.

"Without us, thousands more children would have died, I suppose."  
"That's right," he says, smiling gently through the screen. "So being barely out of your teenage years, you've lived two lives and you've met your goals. You've served a greater purpose and have saved thousands. The question is, what do you do now? Put yourself first."

The concept makes me uncomfortable.

"Katniss, you've given a lot to life. What do you want to take from it? What do you want to do with your time on earth today?"

It is a surprisingly easy reply: "I want to go to the woods."

I throw my father's hunting jacket over my shoulders, carelessly tie my hair back with a ribbon, and sprint toward the forest. For the first time in a long time, I am conscious of the clean smell of grass, the musty smell of the damp forest floor, and the clarity of the birds' song. The sun beats warmly on my face. I close my eyes, take in a deep breath of the fresh air and feel renewed, like cobwebs are being swept off my heart.  
I reach into the tree that has been cradling my bow and quiver in its trunk for the past year. I stroke the taught string on my bow and hear its hum. Its weight is familiar and comfortable in my arms. I load an arrow and pull back the string. The magic of the moment is quickly vanquished by reality: my strength has been so diminished that I can barely pull back the string to acquire enough tension to send an arrow further than a few feet. Clearly, I had some weeks to go before I'd be bringing anything back for Greasy Sae. I spend the afternoon tearing the muscle fibers in my arms, chest and back in an effort to rebuild the atrophied muscle. When my body protests and will no longer cooperate, I throw rocks against a knothole in a tree to improve my shoddy aim.

I exhaustedly return home just as the sun is beginning to set. Greasy Sae will just have to improvise with goose in the meantime until I reacquire some hunting skill. As I walk up the path to the Victors' Village, I hear laughter coming from Haymitch's house. Curious, I follow the sound to Haymitch's front door.

I suppose I had never really heard Peeta laugh before so I hadn't recognized the sound. Sure, I'd heard him lightly chuckle to himself, mostly in disbelief, but I had never heard him laugh so heartily and carefree. It gave me hope for myself. Perhaps Dr. Aurelius hadn't been exaggerating when he had said Peeta was healing. Maybe it is within reach.

Peeta sees me through the window and motions me to come inside.

"Sweetheart!" Haymitch drunkenly slurs. "Came to see your old man, did you?"  
I tolerate this.

A deck of cards is divided between the two and each of them has a drink. Peeta's face is flushed but he isn't in the shape in which Haymitch typically finds himself.

"Join us," Peeta beckons, pouring me a drink. "We're playing a game."  
"I might as well," I shrug. "I guess I can never escape either of you or games."  
"Ohhh shut up," Peeta rolls his eyes as he pushes the drink toward me. "Have some fun for once. Just let yourself."

We stay up until the late hours of the night, drinking, playing, and sharing stories from the past year. I don't have much to contribute but I don't mind. I'm comforted by listening to Haymitch's detailed business plan which Peeta gushes on and on a little too enthusiastically about how he can't wait to warm up the bread ovens and smell the yeast of rising bread. This will be our new normal, I realize, and feel contented with the simplicity of it all.

The three of us begin to tire and Haymitch, without much of a goodbye, stumbles off to his room. I'm reminded of that night on the train when Haymitch vomited all over himself and I suggest to Peeta that we get out of there before we have to clean up another mess.

"You mean before _I_ have to clean up another mess. There was no cleaning on your end," he reminds me.  
"I offered," I say in my defense.  
"Begrudgingly. Hey, I'll walk you back to your place."  
"To help me into my restraints?"  
"No, no. Dr. Aurelius told Haymitch he discharged the restraints." He nudges me with his sharp elbow. "You called him this morning, then. Way to go."

I silently shrug to try to convey my indifference toward the matter. We walk in silence for a bit.

"Peeta?" I ask in the darkness.  
"Yeah?"  
"Thanks."  
"Sure."

Nothing else is said before we reach my door shortly. My head is swimming a bit and I'm exhausted from the activity of the day. I know that tomorrow I will wake up mid-morning, barely able to move my sore muscles, but I enjoy the warmth and relaxation I am currently experiencing as symptoms of my buzz.

"Well, goodnight," Peeta says. "Enjoy your first night of being restraint-free."

I laugh at the craziness of it all. I sound certifiably insane (and for all I know, I am). Peeta warmly squeezes me in a reassuring farewell hug.

With my mildly impaired judgment, I pull away from him a bit and tilt my head upwards until my lips reach his. It's like an old memory that is at once comforting and sad. I'm certain it only lasts a second or two and I really can't say whether or not Peeta kissed me back.  
I do know he is the first to break the seal of our lips.

"Sorry."  
I feel my alcoholic flush being replaced with an embarrassed blush. Peeta just clears his throat.  
"Do you want to sleep over tonight? I mean…not like…I mean like on the train. So we can both sleep."

I feel apologetic for even suggesting it and think I need to explain myself.  
"I mean, I'm not trying to…well, you know. I mean…just to sleep without the nightmares."

Peeta is silent and considers it a minute.  
"Ah, you know, Katniss, I don't think so. Not tonight."  
"Oh."

Well, what else could I say? I feel totally and utterly stupid. "Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow, then."  
"Yeah. Goodnight."  
"Night."

I retreat into the dark stairwell and follow the wall to my bedroom. I have an acute sense of loneliness but the feeling soon gives way to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER 5

Things continue like this for about three or four months. The diner is coming along just fine and business is decent—not enough to make a sizeable profit but enough at this point, at least, to break even. I'm not quite sure how but Haymitch has some extra money on the side that he must have saved.

I continue seeing Dr. Aurelius although it's on a much less frequent basis at this point. He said he's considering moving me to a maintenance phase like Peeta, who has really made a name for himself in our little diner with his baked goods. In the morning, he makes delicious sweet rolls to be eaten with coffee, a flaky buttery flatbread that he tops with poached goose eggs, spinach, and basil. It's unfair, really, that I spend my mornings hunting instead of in the kitchen drooling over his craftsmanship, but he's kind enough to set aside a sweet roll and some coffee for me before I head out to the woods at dawn.

Aside from hunting, Peeta and I jointly maintain a good sized garden that supports tomatoes, carrots, spinach, green beans, squash, lettuce, onion, garlic, cucumber as well as various herbs. Haymitch planted some katniss in a nearby marsh, finding it just hilarious. We sometimes mash the root like potato or cube and roast them but, suffice it to say, it isn't a very popular menu item—not because of the taste, really, but because most patrons just don't know what it is.

One early morning in October, I find myself stalking a buck. I still don't have as much confidence in my shooting abilities but I try nonetheless. If I fail, no one needs to know. The buck stops to drink from a stream and _there_, there is my shot. I stop breathing and all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat pulsing in my ears. I aim, silently pull back the string of my bow, and let the arrow fly. For whatever reason, I close my eyes as the arrow cuts the air toward its intended target. When I open my eyes, the buck is gone. I run to where it had previously stood. It made no movement. I cautiously examined the placement of my shot: between the ribs, right through the heart. It was a swift and clean shot.

"Yes!" I shout as I clench my fists. I'm back.

The buck is heavy and takes a great deal of effort and energy to drag it back to the Village. Fortunately, I hadn't needed to wander too far into the woods this time. Greasy Sae's eyes are wide as she sees me coming around the back.  
"We're serving venison tonight, Haymitch!" she cackles joyfully.

I haul the carcass to the back room that Haymitch had built onto the diner as an addition. Its sole purpose was to function as a place to butcher any game I acquire. On one side of the room is a door that opens to a large freezer in which we store the meat. On the outside of the building, we installed a smoker. In the butchering area, I suspend the deer from the gambrel and begin to peel away the skin from the muscle with my hunting knife. It's a long process but after about an hour, tense muscles and spattered blood, the sinewy muscle is gleaming, fur-free. I go to work on separating the cuts of meat but realize I had left my large butchering knife in the main kitchen after having cleaned it.

I peek my head out through a crack in the door leading into the kitchen. Peeta and Haymitch are both in the kitchen: Peeta bent over, kneading some dough, and Haymitch chopping up some onion.

"Hey, could somebody bring me my knife so I don't have to walk in there like this?"

Peeta raises his head from his work and says, "Yeah, I'll get it in just a second. Let me wash my hands first."  
"Okay, thanks," I say and close the door to look over my work and make sure I haven't missed any spots.  
Soon, Peeta enters the room without a knife.  
"Hey, where did you leave it last? I can't find it," he says as he walks over to me.

Then the smell of the blood hits him. He looks up at me, spattered with blood and cleaning my fresh kill and I see it: that far away look in his eyes. Before I can think to do anything, Peeta lunges at me and the force knocks the hunting knife from my grasp and slides to the opposite side of the room. He sits atop me, pinning my wrists to the floor with only one hand.

"Peeta!" I yell, frightened.  
I thought this was over with. I thought we had gotten past this.

"Peeta, it's me. Think of Dr. Aurelius. Stop for a minute and think about what you're actually seeing here. I'm cleaning a deer for our diner, that's all."

With his free hand, Peeta reaches for my quiver that I had carelessly tossed aside after the hunt. From it, he draws a single arrow.

"Peeta! Peeta, please!" I yell, struggling to free myself from his grasp.

He uses the sharp tip of the arrow to tear open my father's old buttoned shirt, exposing my chest. I don't have time to feel embarrassed; I just have to figure out what I'm going to do.  
"Haymitch!" I yell. "Haymitch!"

Peeta poises the tip of the arrow firmly between my ribs above my heart and slowly begins to press downward. Just then, as his concentration is on the arrow, I free one of my hands from the restraint of his hand and attempt to push him off.  
"Haymitch! Help! Please, Haymitch!"

As the arrow begins to draw blood, a feel a strange feeling…a feeling of absolute fear and danger. I don't know if it's because our romance had always coincided with life-threatening situations, but it is now that I unthinkingly reach up with my free hand, circle it around Peeta's neck…  
And pull him in for a kiss. A deep, consuming, needing kiss. A pleading kiss. _Please come back to me._

It is then that Haymitch, after deciding my screams were for help and not for a knife, burst through the door. The sight must be both shocking and confusing: Peeta and I kissing while the arrow precipitated a trickle of blood dripping down my bare chest. A skinned buck serves as the background for our amorous meeting.

Haymitch grabs Peeta by his shirt and pulls him up. I quickly cover myself while Haymitch restrains Peeta.

"Stop! Stop!" he pleads. "I'm back, Haymitch. I'm back."  
He looks around the room and then at me.  
"What happened?"  
"You…well…we…umm…" I stammer. I look over at Haymitch for help.  
"Don't look at me. I can in no way interpret whatever I just walked in on."

Peeta's eyes look at my agape shirt stained with blood and then down at the arrow firmly grasped in his right hand.

"Did I…did I attack you?" He is visibly shaken at the realization. "Did I black out?"  
"I…I guess so," I say quietly. "You were trying to kill me. I couldn't push you away so I kissed you."

Peeta and I stared at each other in disbelief. Haymitch looked between the two of us.

"Well, I have to say that makes sense," he replies sarcastically. "If Peeta were trying to kill me, I'd probably want to kiss him, too. Katniss, Peeta, get back to work. I've had just as screwed up of a life as you two and you don't see me going around attacking and kissing people. Peeta, you are not to come in this room again when Katniss is in here. I told you: I'm done with the babysitting. Now go."

I'm too shaken to finish up my work. _I thought this was over._ I decide, instead, to return to my home and wash off the sweat, blood, and events of the day thus far and crawl back into my bed and sleep.


	6. Chapter Six

CHAPTER 6

I find myself in a grave with all the dead surrounding me. They are eating my flesh and I am in agonizing pain. They nibble at me, bit by bit, and as I again open my eyes, I find that they are no longer the family and friends and strangers that I had killed; rather, they have transformed into mutts. Prim's beautiful cornflower blue eyes are unmistakable. I wait in excruciating pain for death like Cato had done, but death never comes. Soon, we are all being buried alive. I hear the sound of the shovel plunging forcefully into the ground, pulling up dirt and roots, and heaving the freshly dug earth onto my burning body. I snap awake, screaming loudly. I jump from bed and cover myself in my cotton robe. Before I even crane my neck to look, I smell the clean, earthy smell of freshly dug dirt. _Hadn't it been a nightmare_?

I glance out the dusty panes to see a few small bushes of tiny yellow flowers. _Primroses_. It's both beautiful and sad. Peeta returns to the site with a watering can and glances up at me.

"Bad dreams?" he asks.  
"Always."  
"Me too." He returns to the task at hand.  
"What are you doing?" I ask.  
" I found them in a nearby meadow. I thought you might like them as a memorial for her."

Tears well up in my eyes at the mere mention of Prim. So small and delicate just like the flowers. My little sister.

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that but I appreciate it."  
"I feel terrible about yesterday. How is the cut?"  
His eyes shift to my chest where the crusty, scabbed over puncture wound has clearly become visible from the loosening of my robe. Horrified, I tie the robe tighter around my waist.  
"I've had worse," I state simply.

There's a weird silence that seems to last forever as each of us tallies our own lists of our many wounds garnered in a few short years. I force my mind back to the present and try to think of something to keep it there.

"You know, I don't see why we couldn't harvest these in our garden."  
"The primroses? For the diner?" Peeta asks.  
"Yeah, they're edible plants. You can eat their roots. Prim and I used to gather them for salads when we were starving."  
Peeta looks down at the tiny flowers.  
"At the very least, we could use them as a garnish for cakes," he adds.  
"There's more information in the books of plants my father compiled about it. Do you want to come in and leaf through it?" I ask.  
"Aw, I don't know, Katniss," Peeta says quietly.  
"It was just that time in all these months. It was under weird circumstances, you know?"  
Silence.  
"Peeta, it's fine. I don't care. I'm not scared."  
"You're not scared of anything. You never were."

I say nothing in response. I just close the window and turn back inside. I cross the room to the door to the living room where I have a vacant bookshelf containing few actual books. Really, my entire home is largely barren with the exception of furniture and kitchen items. My mother only left the book behind because, now that she is working in the Capitol with its advanced medical technology, Mother no longer needs to rely upon homeopathic remedies to cure ailments. Mostly, though, I think she left the book, me, and District 12 behind because we remind her too much of my father and Prim.

Peeta and I sit down on the sofa and turn the delicate pages of the reference book. My father's slanted handwriting and rough sketches scrawl across the pages. I smile as I remember my father's skill and talent when it came to knowledge of survival techniques. I suppose they were things he learned from his father and his father before him: all from a long line of poverty-stricken, starving members of the Seam.

"It must have been very difficult after your father died," Peeta quietly stated.  
"It was but we got through it."  
"I used to think how strange it was that your mother chose him over my father. Why would you want that kind of life? But I think I get it."  
"No, don't say that. Your father was wonderful. He was kind. I'm certain he couldn't have been overly fond of squirrel but he always bought them anyway. He brought me cookies after the Reaping."  
"He…what?"  
"Didn't I tell you that? I thought it was a mind game at the time…that you had sent him. But no. He was just kind."

Peeta grew solemn and remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I said. "You must miss him very much."  
"I do. When my mother and brothers would get on my case my father always took my side. Now the only one I've got in my corner is Haymitch when it interests him."  
"I'm in your corner," I offer, covering his hand with my own. Peeta looks at me with a sorrowful look.  
"You probably should stay on the other side of the ring," he responds and looks thoughtfully at the scab peeking above the collar of my robe.

Gently, gently, he pushes the cotton to the side to uncover the wound. I hold my breath, afraid to move. He cautiously bends down to kiss the dried blood and his lips softly graze the skin and muscle over my ribs before gently tracing the outline of the cut with his finger tips. A hot flush develops over the goosebumps on my skin.

"But we have to be each others' family now. Haymitch, you, and me. Who else can appreciate the things we've been through? Who else can we trust?"  
"We've lost a lot," Peeta adds. "A lot of good people for absolutely no reason at all. All for their silly games," he turns another page in the book and a thought enters my mind.  
"We can't ever forget and we can't let anyone else ever forget. Let's tell their stories."

Peeta looks at me confused.  
"Whose?"

"The other tributes," I say. "And Prim. Cinna. Madge. They have stories that need to be told."  
"What are you thinking of doing?"  
"Let's write about them in our own book."  
"My memory is half-destroyed, Katniss."  
"I'll help fill in the blanks," I say. "You just use your beautiful poetry and art to paint a proper picture. Paint that picture of Rue surrounded by flowers."  
"I thought you just wanted to forget," Peeta says.  
"I did. I do. But we can't forget those who sacrificed their lives for us."  
Peeta smiles and takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.  
"Okay. I think that's a great idea."

And so we set about our project. When we aren't working at the diner, we spend cold winter nights huddled in front of the fire in my house which slowly begins to looks like an actual home. I describe people and events for Peeta and he turns the details into beautiful prose. I love to lie on the floor, propped up on a pillow, and watch Peeta's hands work. We sit silently for hours with the exception of the few details I quip as a reminder for Peeta's art. His hands move surely yet gracefully across the pages. The soft scratching of the pencils becomes familiar: a white noise lullaby that calms me, loosening the tense muscles in my shoulders. I curl into a compact ball on the floor next to Peeta as he works late into the night completing his latest masterpiece and I fall into a dreamless sleep.

When I awaken a little while later, I look up to see what Peeta has drawn: a picture of our kiss in the cave as he lay dying. A flood of emotions rises and threatens to drown me. He had drawn that without my prompting. He had drawn it from memory.

Peeta notices that I'm awake and quickly turns the page in the book to cover his drawing but it's too late. I saw all of it. Every last stroke is heavily laden with bittersweet memories of our last moments of childhood innocence.

"Peeta…" but only a hoarse, choked whisper comes out.  
"Sorry," he says, turning away. "I was just remembering. I know it's a weird memory now."  
"It isn't weird," I say, taking the sketch from him. "It's beautiful. It's one of the few beautiful moments we have."

I turn my gaze back to the accuracy of the picture. The cave is exactly as I remember it. How could he have remembered it in such stunningly accurate detail despite his fevered state?

And then, as he seems to keep doing lately, Peeta catches me off guard. Even though I've always been the one to initiate a kiss, there are his lips, pressed against mine and there are his arms encapsulating my body. I think about how different this kiss is from the pictured kiss in the cave. That kiss had seemed so innocent, so brief, so light. This kiss reaches deeper inside of me, to the very marrow of my bones. It makes my blood boil. I press myself back against him, hoping he knows what I know: this is not a kiss for cameras. This is not a kiss to pull him back to reality. This kiss is solely for him.


	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER 7

Peeta and I begin to spend more time working on our book in our free time; however, the time spent isn't particularly productive. We take plenty of breaks for kisses and for Peeta to wrap his arms around me in front of the fire as we talk about nothing.

Since hunting in the winter is scarce, the diner begins to rely instead on its stockpiled frozen meat and vegetables and I begin to spend more time in the kitchen with Peeta, Haymitch, and Greasy Sae. It's a bit overwhelming at first as I really have little to no talent when it comes to cooking, chopping, or washing dishes. Peeta takes it upon himself to teach me how to bake. We are in the kitchen kneading dough for sandwiches.

"This is boring and it hurts my back," I complain.  
"Well then sing or talk while you do it," he says.  
"I won't sing." We knead for a few minutes in silence. I have to say or do something else or I'll go crazy.  
"So your name is Peeta." I say.  
"So I'm told."  
"I don't get it."  
"What do you mean?" Peeta asks, surprised, I'm sure, that after years of knowing each other it's just now occurring to me.  
"Katniss isn't a name to write home about but I'm named after a plant at least. What were your parents going for? Are you named after a pocket bread or is your actual name 'Peter' and your parents just wanted to make sure everyone would pronounce it with a Capitol accent?"

Peeta scrunches up his face in insulted confusion until he turns to see the laughter in my eyes. He smirks and flicks some flour off his fingers and into my face.  
"Hey!" I laugh and toss a handful of flour toward him which leads to a small flour flicking match.

Haymitch walks in the kitchen in the middle of the mêlée and eyes us suspiciously.  
"You two are awfully chummy lately," he says gruffly. We cease fire and silently return to our work.

The tension between Peeta and I on a daily basis must be palpable because Haymitch addresses us about our "chumminess" one day after a loud bout of laughter from the two of us.

"Katniss, get out of here."  
"What?"  
"Get out of my kitchen—"  
"_My_ kitchen," Greasy Sae overhears Haymitch and corrects him.  
"What did I do now?" I roll my eyes, thinking I had once again burnt something.  
"Stay out of the kitchen from now on. You're distracting Peeta with your teasing."  
"Come on, Haymitch, it's fine. I know she's kidding," Peeta defends me.

Haymitch puts his hands on my shoulders and places his face centimeters from mine at the same level. I expected a heavy smell of bourbon but I realize that Haymitch hasn't been drinking during business hours anymore, instead reserving his binges for evening hours. He slowly repeats his sentence as if I myself were a little slow.

"You are _distracting_ Peeta with your _teasing_ and I'm sick of listening to it at work. Do it on your own time, sweetheart."

It takes me a moment to realize what Haymitch is actually saying and I feel the indignant fury begin to rise up in my throat. I look him straight in the eye.

"Are you calling me a…?" I trail off. Haymitch holds my gaze.  
Furiously, I push Haymitch out of the way, throw my apron to the floor, and make a quick and dramatic exit toward the door. On the way out, I bump into someone.

"Sorry," I apologize, still in a blind rage. I look up at the bouncing blond curls and realize who it is: Delly Cartwright.

"Delly?"  
"Katniss! Hi!" she says, embracing me.  
"W-what are you doing here? I thought you were in the Capitol."

Due to her supporting role in Peeta's recovery, she had become familiar with Plutarch at least. It was difficult to ignore her bubbly beauty and not be affected by it. Plutarch, sensing a star, was of course captivated by this and offered her some roles in television shows that never made it into a second season if they even got past the pilot. She's one of those people that's annoyingly cheerful but you just can't help but to like her.

"Ah, you know. I'm in between work now so I thought I'd come back to District 12 and do the out-of-work-actress waitress gig," she said, tossing back her curls.  
I shrink, all of a sudden feeling unfeminine and ugly in her presence. Stupid.  
"Oh—here? At our diner?"  
"Yeah!" she smiles her lipglossy smile. "I'm staying with my family." Her family was one of the few to escape District 12 before it was decimated.  
"Thank goodness because I'm pretty sure Haymitch was just about to make me a waitress and, let's face it, I'd be a terrible waitress."  
"No!" she says warmly. "People love you, Katniss. You're a national treasure for godssakes."

Unfortunately, it turns out that Haymitch's plan is to have not one waitress, but two: a beautiful, charming waitress and a taciturn and averse but_ celebrity_ waitress. My presence brings in more customers from across the districts while Delly's presence makes sure they will return despite my poor service. Haymitch, slimy as ever, charges people for photographs with me. We all work longer hours. It is terrible. I can't decide whether or not Haymitch is punishing me for my flirtation with Peeta who is technically now my work colleague. Regardless, Peeta and I no longer work on the book let alone say anything to each other aside from shouting out patrons' orders. We're too exhausted after work to do anything.

Finally, one morning in late spring, Haymitch calls us into the back office for an announcement.  
"We've broken even!"  
Peeta, Delly and I look at each other with confusion.  
"You three don't know anything about business. It means we're no longer paying off the debt and costs of running this joint. We're finally turning a profit!" Delly jumps up and down in excitement with Haymitch. Peeta and I are largely indifferent to the matter until Haymitch declares the diner closed for the day tomorrow.  
"What? Why? What will we tell people?"  
"We'll tell them we're renovating or something. Make yourselves look like human beings again. Tonight, we celebrate!"


	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER 8

Delly wants to meet at my place prior to the celebration at Haymitch's so we can get ready together. I always found it strange that girls needed to prepare for events together instead of on their own but I go along with it, warning her that I own nothing that would be of use to us.  
"That's okay!" she says. "I'll bring all my own things."

When I answer my door, I find Delly standing there with a rolling suitcase full of cosmetics and hair products. She is standing there with unkempt curly hair and a bare face and I am shocked at how young and girlish she looks. She looks the way I imagine Prim would now look at fourteen. It's unseasonably warm that night so Delly is wearing a pretty spring green sundress with silk wrap tied around her shoulders for some protection from the night breeze.

"What are you going to wear?" she asks.  
I look down at what I have on: a t-shirt and some knit pants.  
"Oh," she says. "Katniss, you can't wear that. This is a party!"  
"I don't really have anything nice," I say.  
The truth is that I do have quite a few nice dresses from my days on the Victory Tour and other public appearances. They obviously have been collecting dust as I cannot bring myself to wear them.

Delly makes her way to my closet and throws open the doors. She sifts through the different dresses and pulls out a white, lacy tea-length gown with a sweetheart neckline. She gasps.

"Oh, it's the dress from your interview after the Games!" she squeals. "I love love LOVE This one." She practically skips over to me with the frock. It's the dress I wore when Peeta proposed to me on national television.  
"No, not this one," I whisper.  
"This one!" she proclaims and helps me into it.

We spend the next hour painting our faces. Not unlike Peeta, Delly is an artist. She works to cover the blotchy unevenness of my face until my skin is glowing. I look down at my forearm where Johanna had ripped the tracking device from beneath my skin. Even now, the scar seems to heal at a slower rate compared even to the grafted skin that covers a good percentage of my body.

"Do you think you could cover that?" I ask her. She smiles warmly at me and places her hand over the raised, puffy skin.  
"No, leave it. Don't ever be ashamed of your scars." I smile back at her…this time genuinely.

Although Delly has a fondness for heavier makeup, she left mine simpler, applying only light eye makeup, pink to my cheeks, and a light pink lip gloss. We look different enough so that her palette looks slightly off on me; thankfully, though, her artificial tan ensures that her foundation powder isn't too light for my olive skin. She loosens my braid and merely combs her fingers through my hair to separate the waves.

"There!" she proclaims satisfied, looking me up and down.

I don't want to look at myself in the mirror. It's difficult enough just wearing the dress. It must be an improvement, though, because Delly looks like a proper Capitol beauty queen.

Delly and I walk arm and arm down the road to Haymitch's house, more so for stability in my heels rather than out of affection for each other. We knock and Haymitch, looking surprisingly sharp in a suit, opens the door and screws up his mouth at us.

"Oh, nice of you to show up, ladies. Thanks for gracing us with your presence about an hour after the fact. We're already through an entire bottle of wine. Well, Peeta's probably only had about a glass or two." An entire bottle of wine is nothing for Haymitch. Peeta never drinks, though.  
"We're fashionably late!" Delly quips.

Haymitch moves aside. When I see Peeta, my muscles tense and I'm about ready to kick off my heels and turn right back home. Maybe I'm crazy, but I could swear Delly was there, staying me.

Peeta is wearing the same suit he had worn to the interview after the Games. I could almost see him getting down on one knee in it. I'm instantly uncomfortable. Peeta looks at the two of us and, ever the gentleman, says, "You both look lovely," with his gaze trained on me. I realize how much I've missed him these past few months.

"Where's Greasy Sae?" I ask.  
"She's at home. Someone needs to be there to watch her little granddaughter," Peeta says with slurry-sounding speech. The consonants just kind of clank in his mouth. It's mildly amusing. I take my seat next to him.

In true Haymitch fashion, we look classy on the outside but we'll all be drunken messes on the inside soon enough. To Haymitch, a celebration requires little preparation aside from cards, copious amounts of booze, and a tie. We play various drinking games and even invent a few new ones. Delly and I take plenty of large sips of water between our tiny sips of whatever alcohol Haymitch happens to be serving. Peeta weighs far more than either of us so he's faring all right but I lean in and remind him to slow it down and sip some water.

"I don't have any water," he says. I get up to get him some and he pushes me back down into my chair.  
"No!" he tells me, patting my head. "You are not a waitress tonight. I will do it."

He stumbles a bit on his way to the kitchen and seems to forget quite where it is so I go over to him to steady him and guide him to the kitchen. He's possibly a bit more inebriated than I had thought.  
Once we enter the kitchen, Peeta stops and fingers the lace on my dress.

"I thought that was the one you wore when…" he trails off and has a faraway look on his face.  
All of a sudden, he's pinned my shoulders to the wall. Frightened, I'm about to call out for Haymitch but just as I find the breath to do so, Peeta covers my mouth with his.

When he comes up for air, I nervously whisper, "Peeta, we shouldn't—" he kisses my neck and it's like the wind has been knocked out of me.  
"Shh," he murmurs in my ear, "I've missed you." He gently brushes away the strap of my dress from my shoulder and lightly kisses the place that it had once been.  
"I missed you, too," I whisper back, feeling like I'm melting on the inside.  
Peeta leans into me and sighs my name into my hair. "Katniss…"

"Katniss!" Haymitch calls.  
"It's your turn!" Delly adds.

I quickly push Peeta away from me and he stumbles and eventually falls to the ground.  
"Sorry!" I say as I rush to fill a cup with tap water. I grab his hand and pull him to his feet and rush back toward the living room. Peeta had already been flushed from drinking but my olive complexion held on to a noticeably crimson hue despite my near-sobriety.

"Well," Haymitch laughs. "I hope you're not giving Peeta a hard time. Be nice tonight."  
"What are you talking about? I _am _being nice!" I protest.  
"I'm _sure_ you are," he says with a wink. I gulp. He mouths the words to me: _no teasing_. I sit in silent anger and shame. Me! Why does he think I'm the one starting all of this? Does he think I'm leading Peeta on? I play my hand.

"She is, don't worry," Peeta comes to my defense. "Of all of us, she is the _most pure_." He then squeezes my leg above my knee beneath the table and I jump.  
Haymitch snorts in disagreement.

"I'm glad we can all be here and be friends again," Delly pipes up with a big smile which narrows as she turns to me. "Especially you and me, Katniss."  
"I always thought you were a nice girl, Delly. I just didn't have many friends in school. I had to look after my family."

Delly looks nervously toward Haymitch and Peeta.  
"She doesn't know?"  
Haymitch looks down. Peeta looks…well, Peeta looks drunk for lack of a better description.  
"I don't know what?"  
"Well, in the Capitol…when Peeta was there and you were here…" The room begins to spin. "Peeta and I…" she trails off and the room stops.  
There's silence.  
"Peeta and you?" I ask. I feel so small. "Peeta and you…_what_?"  
She backtracks. "It's just that while you were here, I was the only other person in the Capitol that knew Peeta and so I'd visit him at the hospital. We'd…we spent time together."  
"What do you mean?" I ask.  
"I mean," she clears her throat, "_We spent time together_. That's the real reason I came back to District 12, Katniss. I asked Haymitch if he had any availability at the diner."

I felt so stupid thinking she was on my side, letting her dress me up. I angrily hurl my hand of cards in Haymitch's face, screaming at him.  
"You knew about it?"  
I feel the blood leaving my face. I stand up and throw my heeled shoe and, just grazing Haymitch's head, it lodges itself into his wall. I go over to him and get right in his face.  
"And you called _me_ the tease!"  
"Katniss, wait a minute—" I turn around to Peeta who is trying to calm me down. I hold up the remaining heel in warning and he stands down. I become livid thinking that Peeta kissed Delly the same way he had kissed me only moments ago. I'm not sure what she was implying exactly but truthfully, I don't want to know.  
"I'm done," I say to whomever. "Haymitch, I want my last paycheck. I can't work at the diner anymore."

I turn on my heels and walk barefoot into the night. No one says anything or comes after me.  
They had to have known they can't keep secrets from me…least of all Peeta (or at least I thought). What bothers me even more than the idea of Peeta and Delly is the fact that Peeta was able to lie to me so convincingly. I thought that, despite everything, Peeta was still Peeta. Now I see that he is utterly changed. I feel completely alone and, for the first time in a long time, I scoop up Buttercup who snuggles against me in the night as I toss and turn in my sleep.


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N:** Okay, so HowLynn totally called me out on what an awful sex scene this had initially been and I agreed wholeheartedly. It didn't fit a lot of what was going on and it didn't really fit their characters. I don't want it to be mushy or lemony but kind of someone in between. I don't know if this + profanity pushes it into M rating territory. If anyone has a problem with it, I guess they can let me know! It isn't graphically sexual and references very little, in fact, focusing mostly on inner dialogue. Hope this does the trick! ;) Grazie!

* * *

CHAPTER 9

I sleep later than usual, happy to have the day off. I get up and shower where I watch Delly's makeup melt off and circle down the drain. I remain under the shower's comforting spray for a long time as if to wash off all the shame of last night. I don't like being left out. I don't like being lied to. Peeta and Haymitch of all Peeta should understand this by now. I am constantly being kept in the dark about things and I don't like it at all.

When I get out of the shower, put on my robe, and step out of the bathroom, I jump at the sight of someone sitting nonchalantly in my living room.

"Peeta!" I say in surprise and annoyance. "Wh- how did you get in here? What are you doing here?"  
"You weren't answering the door so I let myself in," he says as if that's a perfectly socially acceptable thing to do.  
"I was in the shower! "  
"Maybe you should lock your door when you're in the shower."

We look at each other defiantly for what is probably only a few seconds but it feels like ages. I'm not going to be the first to say anything. Finally, Peeta speaks up.

"Look, I don't know the exact details but I vaguely remember you storming out in a rage after threatening me with a shoe. I came over to see if everything is ok."  
"What's going on with Delly?" I snap.  
"What?" He looks entirely confused.  
"Did something happen with her in the Capitol?"  
Peeta is beginning to look angry.  
"What are you talking about? You're being crazy."  
"Crazy!" I take a deep breath before I explode. "Delly implied some things last night."  
"Like what?" he asks.  
"She said that you two spent time together in the Capitol."  
"So?" he asks, nonplussed.  
"It was the _way_ she said it!"  
"You are being completely crazy right now. Are you saying we somehow slept together while I was an inpatient at the hospital?"  
"Real or not real?" I say, mocking our game.  
"I have no idea. No idea! I don't remember half of my time spent on the mental health floor but I think I'd remember something like that. Are you kidding me?"  
"I hate you so much right now," I sigh as I turn away from him. The sentence leaves a terrible taste in my mouth. I turn around to apologize and he's just standing there. Smiling.

"What?" I ask.  
"This is normal." He still has that stupid grin on his face. "This is a normal conflict for two nineteen year olds to have. Sort of."  
I can't help but smile myself.  
"Yeah, I guess you're right," I say. "At least…it's the closest to normal you or I could ever get."

I lean against the wall.  
"I'm sorry I was so upset," I offer. "It's just that…when I think about you and Delly—"  
I stop myself, realizing what I was just about to say. Peeta is just staring at me expectantly.  
"Is it just like when I think about you and Gale?"  
Peeta looks up at me through the strands of wavy blonde hair that have fallen over his bowed head. We stand opposite each other in silence for a while.  
"It just…kind of made me crazy. You're…you're…" I search for the word as I intertwine my fingers with his.  
"You're mine."

He steps in closer to me, tenderly kisses my lips and whispers, "You're mine."

I reach up and pull him into me closer, closer. His warmth and his smell intoxicate me and he's so familiar and yet this still feels so new. There is only honesty between us and it's thin. I'm entirely lost in his strong embrace, in his soft lips and I think I'm forgetting to breathe. It's a good thing I'm leaning against a wall because I begin to feel dizzy and slump. Peeta takes note of this and grips me tighter.

I want to tell him sorry and that I'm dizzy and I'll be all right but I feel utterly paralyzed here in this moment, with the weight of his body and his lips against mine. I hang onto him for dear life but he pulls away.  
"I need to stop," he says breathlessly and embarrassed.

I hear the echo of Haymitch's voice in my head. "Stop _distracting_ Peeta with your _teasing_." I need to stop the back and forth that we have. Peeta is the only friend I have and the only person that consistently puts up with my moods that overtake me and paralyze me in my bed for days. I don't know why he does it or what he gets from it but it's possible that it's for the same reason I even allow someone to be around me when I'm vulnerable. I don't know how it would be possible, given all that we've been through, to not have some sort of feelings for the only person in the world who can relate. True, other Victors have experienced similar exploitation but ours was a very unique kind. We were used, played off each other, manipulated into a relationship. We've already been married and pregnant for all that the majority of the nation knows. Emotions are already confusing when you're a teen and I still haven't been able to decide if my feelings for Peeta were implanted or real, not unlike the false memories implanted into Peeta by the trackerjacker venom.

Regardless of whether or not my feelings for Peeta truly are romantic, I do know that I need him and that I can't lose him to anyone else that could restrict my access to him as a confidant.

Since I've been eating on a regular basis and have come closer to a normal weight for my height, I've been able to gain more muscle and my non-existent breasts have become fuller. I was at first self-conscious of this fact but then I noticed how Peeta's gaze would linger on them just a little bit longer and how he'd quickly return to his task if I happened to look up and follow his gaze. Everything in me tells me I should be insulted by his ogling but oddly, I'm not. It makes me feel powerful, as though I could request anything, anything of him and he'd do it. Being that I've had very little control over my own life up until this point, I'd do anything to keep the hold I have over him.

I pull him back to me. "No one's hands should be on you but mine," I croak as I run my hands up his stomach under his shirt. He shivers and nods. I remove his shirt and kiss him. It's a different kiss now, with no tenderness to it. It's both needing and possessive.

And now, like when Peeta was atop me in the back freezers, pressing the arrow into my ribs, I feel a heat beginning to set ablaze inside of me. This time, though, he's _my_ prey.

For a moment, we stand opposite each other, entirely naked.

Not much thought goes through my mind and I don't bother to stop and think what he must be feeling or thinking. I just feel determination and when I want to do something, I'm going to do it.

I take a step closer to Peeta to trace his various scars and he shivers beneath my touch as he takes in how my scars curve around the new soft parts as a badge of our role in the rebellion. Peeta and I, we're a symbol and a force. Sure, I was the Mockingjay, but it was never just me. It was always, always us. And now, pressing scar to beautiful scar, I feel more powerful with our bodies entwined than I ever have.

Still, though, our confidence quickly diminishes when we realize we aren't exactly sure what to do. Peeta's fumbling and breathless, "Sorry" and "ummm" make me believe he was either horrible at this to begin with or his memory of his experience with Delly truly hadn't been cemented in his mind as he had claimed. My confidence begins to diminish when I have difficulty matching the rhythm of his hips with my own until finally, I accept that I just need to relinquish the power to him, deciding there needs to be some give and take in such an instance. He leans down to kiss me and clinks his teeth against mine.  
"Ow," I hiss.  
"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes. And we laugh, blushing, and hug each other closer as he presses on further.

What had started out as a moment of power and control has transformed into something sincere as we expose our vulnerabilities to each other. It at once feels new and different but still somehow familiar and comfortable with Peeta. I guess it's ok to not be in control all the time. Further, I realize that there are still some things left for us in life that the past few years haven't touched and defiled. We're still able to be teens, honestly and curiously. Still, I can't decide if this is done out of love, or if this was a hormonal impulse on which two best friends acted. As long as we have the other to hold us up and move forward despite a stolen childhood and broken families, I guess I shouldn't analyze it too much.

Afterward, we lay in each others' arms, silently processing everything. I look up at Peeta and he smiles back.  
"Peeta," I say softly, "I—"  
He puts his fingers to my lips and shushes me.  
"No, Katniss." He pulls me closer and rests his chin atop my head. "Please don't say anything."

Then he holds down my arms just as he had on that day in the back freezer and covers my body with his own. I press my smirk to his lips, happy to relinquish control for a few minutes and still feel powerful in doing so.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author's Note:** Thanks for taking the time to review, Anonymous. I truly appreciate it! I have more of a twist later in mind but I hope this is a good mini-twist to build up to it in the meantime. Sorry this chapter is massive! And warning, there are maybe three instances of profane language but it isn't intended to be gratuitous. This is how I think a heated conversation would occur.

* * *

CHAPTER 10

When I wake up just as the sun is beginning to peak above the horizon, Peeta is there next to me, sleeping soundly in a puddle of his own saliva. I make a mental note to wash the pillow and its case.

I hold my breath and creep silently out of bed without bothering to shower since I'll only return with the stench of death on me. I pull on my pants, a shirt, and my hunting jacket. My body is sore so I just throw back my hair into a loose ponytail and grab my bow and quiver. Before I silently step out of the room, I pause a moment to look at Peeta. I'd slept near him multiple times of course but he looks completely different: he's relaxed and in a deep sleep that isn't riddled with anxiety. He looks peaceful and rather boyish which makes me think back to that eleven-year-old boy with the bread. I can't wake him. Not like this. I silently close the door and make my way to the woods.

My concentration is ruined when a breeze gently tousles my hair in my face. I breathe it in and find that I smell different. _I smell like him_. I shake the scent from my memory and trudge on. Possibly due to my inattention or due to the heavy scent of sweat that still clings to my skin, I'm rather unsuccessful this morning. My mind wanders to Gale. It catches me off guard since I have not thought much about him in months; it seems especially inappropriate and deceitful after yesterday. But still, I can't help but miss his assistance as my hunting partner. I'd be more successful with his help.

Disappointedly, I return to the diner with only squirrels in my traps. On difficult days, we can at least fall back on Haymitch's geese (and now hens) and their eggs. Once I've removed the pelts from their bodies, I present the meat to Greasy Sae and Haymitch who are prepping for the day. Delly won't be in until open; she's that person who just barely makes it on time everywhere she goes.

I notice Peeta isn't in making the morning bread.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask.  
Haymitch shrugs. "I tried calling his house but he wasn't there. I thought he'd overslept. I'm worried about him."

_Thank goodness_, I thought. He didn't try to reach me at my place to see if I had seen him at the diner this morning before hunting as I usually did.

"But then I called your house to get a hold of you and low and behold, guess who was on the other line."

"Oh, that's funny," I say. I quickly think of a lie. "I didn't come by this morning for my usual coffee and sweet roll so maybe he stopped by to see if_ I_ had overslept."  
"I don't really care why. He's late."

Just then, Peeta rushes through the kitchen door, his hair sticking up on one side. Had he not bothered to look in the mirror?

"Oh, look who's shown up. Busy day off yesterday, huh?" Haymitch accuses.

And just then, Peeta and I make eye contact: very brief eye contact that surely only lasts a millisecond. A blush begins to creep into my cheeks and I have to believe that Peeta is experiencing a similar phenomenon. None of this is lost on Haymitch.

"So, you two are sleeping together." He states matter-of-factly.

"What!" I feign surprise.  
"N-no," Peeta stammers.

"Listen to me, the both of you. This stops right now. The Games are over and the War is over. You are work colleagues now and this is entirely inappropriate. I won't have my business be put at stake because Peeta is ridiculous and can't get over you and because apparently Katniss is a spoiled toddler who only wants to play with a toy when someone else is playing with it. You two idiots better control your hormones or you're out."

Peeta and I stand dumbfounded. Had he really just said that?

"You're kidding yourself," I scream at him, nostrils flaring in anger. "You know as well as we do that this shithole diner would fold without either of us."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he spits.

"People come here to see _me_, the Mockingjay. They come here for _Peeta's_ famous baked goods and his talent. People want _us_. They don't give a shit about your geese or Greasy Sae's heart attack specials or Delly's boobs. Without us, you have _nothing_. Face it: without me or Peeta, you'd be nothing. You'd still just be the town drunk, the embarrassing Victor from District 12 without friends or family because you're such a miserable person. You're so miserable that you insist everyone else is miserable with you and you push people away. It's obnoxious—not endearing and I am so so sick of it!"

We all stand in the fallout of what I've just said. I mean, it's true. It's entirely true and we all know it. There's no point in trying to take it back or in apologizing because well, how can I apologize for something that's honest? My delivery was just not so great.

Just then, Delly bursts through the door.  
"Hi guys!" she says jubilantly and then stops when she sense the tension in the room. "Is everything ok?"

I roll my eyes at her and make my exit out the back door of the kitchen. I can hear Haymitch continuing to lecture Peeta but he ignores him and follows me.

"Katniss, wait."  
I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone. I continue on.

"Would you just stop for a second?"

I halt my livid steps and turn around to face Peeta and find that my anger subsides a bit.

"Look, Haymitch is an asshole. I'll give you that. But I think he's just looking out for us."  
"He's looking out for himself!" I begin to walk away in a huff (to where? I don't know) but Peeta grabs my hand and stops me. I forget how strong he is when he wants to be when he's constantly such mush on the inside.

"Katniss, he's looking out for all of us. We have to have some sort of sustainability and we're all better together than we are apart. The rebellion may be over but you have to know we aren't without enemies. There have got to be people in the Capitol that would still pay top dollar to watch us starve again on national television. The world hasn't just changed over a couple of years."

I stare at him with crossed arms. What have I been doing? I've been so focused on my own depression, on the morphling, on my—whatever it is—with Peeta that I've willingly removed myself from the actual reality of things. The actual reality is that, while to some, Haymitch, Peeta, and I will always be war heros, our lives will always be in danger. In the fragile state of forming a new government, it cold easily be overthrown. While the richest in the Capitol may be the minority, they've held the power and the nation's resources for many years. They've formed allies with the more affluent districts. This power formed over centuries—even prior to the Dark Days. It can't just all unravel in a matter of a few years.

When had Peeta gotten so insightful about this kind of stuff?

I'm silent for a moment before continuing, "I don't know what I had expected it to be like. I think I thought we'd go back to the way things were in District 12 but without the Hunger Games or the hunger. I thought—" I begin to choke up and find that I can barely breathe while trying to fight back my tears. "Peeta, we worked so hard. This is what we fought for?"

He takes me in his arms and whispers into my hair.  
"We have freedom."

"_We _don't. We will always be Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen. I don't want that. I don't want to remember or be remembered as the Mockingjay or the girl that almost committed suicide on national television or the girl that assassinated a president or the Girl on Fire. I just want to be me."

"That_ is _you. It was always you. Cinna just helped you find that within yourself."  
"Oh, Cinna," I wail. "And he died for it."  
"He died because he believed in you. I believe in you. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but Haymitch believed in you, too."  
"I can't stand to work for Haymitch anymore. I've been taking the morphling each morning just to get myself to work. I can't stand to talk to these people about the same things over and over and replay the worst moments of my life. I just want to escape it."  
"You can't escape it and neither can I. We just need to get used to it."  
And overwhelming feeling of despair washes over me and I know that Peeta is absolutely right.

"Katniss, before you and Delly got to the party the other night, Haymitch and I were talking. Haymitch was telling me his greatest accomplishment in life has been the two of us. He told me he'd be worthless without us. He needs us more than you think."

I slant the corner of my mouth up into a half-smirk, dubious.

"He said as soon as we stood up to him on the train, he knew we were it and he couldn't let us go down without a fight. It was the first time we had really…you know…ever actually candidly talked about those Games."

"That's so weird," I say.

"He's worried about you, though. He said he sees you going down the same self-destructive path he did and he doesn't want that for you. He loves you."

"Peeta, Haymitch doesn't love anyone but Haymitch."

"Katniss, Haymitch _told_ me he loves you."

I don't know what to say. It's weird to think of Haymitch like…like… I had to consider this. Did I love Haymitch, too? I try to think back about what it was like to love a parent.

"If he loves me so much, why is he being like this about us?"

Peeta doesn't answer because I've already answered the question for myself. Is it possible that Haymitch loves both Peeta and me to the point that the two of us actually being involved—and not just playing it for the cameras—gives him a sense of unease in a fatherly sort of way? Had he not truly been calling me a tease but had actually been saying in his own crude, Haymitch-y sort of way, '_Peeta's my boy. Be good to him'_?

And then I get it. Haymitch doesn't know how to be a parent or a friend. Haymitch doesn't know how to be an adult. All he knows is how to keep people at arms' length before watching them go as lambs to the slaughter. He's learned nothing except that emotional intimacy of any kind is futile and only leaves you vulnerable. Haymitch doesn't like vulnerability. Neither do I.

This is why I've been distracting myself with these things over the past few months, only to be dragged out of my comfort zone by Peeta who is much more resilient than any of us could have thought. Sure, he has little discernible skill other than his trade, but he isn't afraid. He is impenetrable to any sort of manipulation, even to the complex neurological manipulation of hallucinogenic-induced false memories.

I look at Peeta and see him differently now. He isn't just the boy who silently cried himself to sleep before the morning of boarding the train for the Capitol. He has his own fire, really, that can't be eradicated. Looking at the man who stands before me now, I can't even imagine how any of us had overlooked this. It's irresistible to me and I pull him in for a kiss, pressing my nails against the nape of his neck.

He begins to kiss me back briefly before pushing me away.

"No, no, stop. I can't go back in if you kiss me like that and we need to sort things out with Haymitch."

I relent and follow Peeta back to the kitchen, not knowing what I'd say. I've never been great at apologizing or admitting fault. Fortunately, Haymitch is nowhere to be found. Peeta and I head toward the dining area and find the usual morning clientele at the counter, engrossed in a gossip magazine. I think nothing of it until Peeta stops and I nearly run into him.

"K-Katniss…" he stammers. It takes a moment for it to register when I follow his gaze.

There, on the magazine covers, is a picture of Peeta and I from the interview following the 74th Hunger Games engaged in—

And my stomach twists into a tiny knot when I realize that no, it isn't a picture from the 74th Hunger Games because Peeta and I are entwined in what is clearly an unstaged moment of passion with the strap from my dress seductively hanging off my shoulder.

The headline reads: _The New Hunger Games_ and in smaller subtype: _Katniss and Peeta hungry for each other, exclusive from District 12!_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Author's Note:** Blah, sorry this chapter is significantly shorter than the others! I just wanted to expand upon the last chapter and where I ended up seemed like a good stopping point. Thank you to all those who have favorited me or added me to story alerts. I'm flattered.

Also, it needs to be said: I'm loving reading others' fan fiction, but I'm intentionally avoiding reading other post-MJ pre-epilogue stories similar to my own so I'm not unwittingly influenced by others. I would hate to think I incorporated something brilliant into my story only to later realize I had actually read it somewhere else. I'm sure it happens!

Anyway, onward! I'll try to update sooner rather than later since this one's short. I hope I don't work more than 40 hours this week!

* * *

CHAPTER 11

I snatch one of the magazines out of a customer's hands, deaf to her protest and walk back into the kitchen. On my way there, I find the article and its accompanying pictures. There are shots of Peeta and I casually snuggled against one another as he sketches; another of Peeta handing me a customer's order as I was waitressing; one of me in my robe, talking to Peeta outside my window as he is planting; one of us tending to our vegetable and herb garden. Who had taken these pictures? I never noticed any photographers but then again, there are so many migrants from other more populated districts coming to District 12 to research pharmaceuticals. Unfamiliar faces are so commonplace nowadays that I pay no mind to them.

Once I'm inside the kitchen, I lay the magazine on the countertop and begin to delve into the article.

_After their famous and highly publicized feigned relationship, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen of Hunger Games fame, both now 19 years old, appear to be awfully chummy these days. Although their courtship during the 74__th__ and 75__th__ Hunger Games was a cleverly devised plan to further the cause of the Rebellion, there now appears to have been some kernel of truth to the popularized teen romance. The two lovebirds have been seen—_

Someone snatches the magazine out of my hands. Haymitch.

"Don't read this garbage," he warns, tossing the rag into the trash bin. "This is why I told the two of you to control yourselves. The world is still watching you."

I just stare at Haymitch, not knowing what to say.

"How can they just publish stuff about us like this without our permission?" Peeta asks from behind me.

"Did they ask your permission before sending you to your death in the Hunger Games?"

"Things are different now," Peeta ventures. "This isn't the old hegemonic Panem anymore. It's a new republic."

"Watch how little things change," Haymitch spits. "I'll believe it when I see it in the finalized Constitution, my boy. Until then, nothing has changed."

"These are our lives and they just trivialize it by turning it into entertainment," I say.

"It would have been that way anyway for you as Victors," Haymitch sighs. "My advice? Just get married and get boring. There's no surer way for your star to self-destruct."

"I don't want the government any more involved in my life than it already has been. I don't need a piece of paper from the government telling me who is and who is not part of my family, with whom I can and cannot live, with whom I can and cannot have a sexual relationship—" and then I stop because in my great declaration of anarchism, I forget that I'm thinking out loud and yesterday is still on my mind. And Haymitch is standing there and the fewer details he has, the better.

"You're a celebrity, sweetheart," Haymitch pats me on the head. "While the nation was recovering from the rebellion, it gave you your space while you recovered, too. Now that we're all back on our feet, the world wants to know what you've been up to."

"Who cares! Does no one have anything better to do? Peeta and I, we're boring now as it is. We're not fighting for our lives or causing political upheaval. We're working in a diner."

"Have you already forgotten what got people watching in the first place?" Haymitch laughs.

"You really have no idea the effect you have on people, Katniss," Peeta says as he reaches for my hand.

"Oh, come on, Peeta. Really, Katniss just turns you into an idiot. It's not her they want. It's _you_."

"Me?" Peeta asks.

"No," Haymitch corrects. "_You_. Plural. They want the happy ending."

This infuriates me to no end.

"I find this hard to believe since just a few years ago they were practically salivating at the idea of Peeta and I murdering each other in cold blood," I huff.

"Well, but you changed their minds, didn't you?" Haymitch said. "You showed them the Districts didn't have just second-class citizens. You're just as human as they are. You aren't roosters in a cock fighting ring. You're children! Children that have hopes and dreams and can love. You both made people see that no one can do anything alone but together..." Haymitch pushes us closer.

"Together we changed the rules of the game," Peeta says silently while gripping my hand.

It's overwhelming and I feel weak in my knees. This is too much power to place in the hands of two kids in the precipice of adulthood. I want to disappear from the world and just go back to the place where I went so unnoticed that no one bothered to feed me.

Who said anything about love and happy endings and together? Where I'd left off, we were two best friends that happened to have a lot of sexual tension and slept together once. Well, not once, but one day. I once again find myself being told what I'm feeling and being pushed back toward Peeta. _You could do a lot worse._ I don't like being pushed and I want to push back.

Haymitch huddles the two of us in his arms in what I believe to be a rare display of emotion. He appears to lean in to kiss each of us tenderly on the cheek but instead squeezes us impossibly closer yet and whispers so only we can hear him, "In the new game, make_ sure_ the odds stay ever in your favor."

Peeta and I exchange looks of confusion.

"Remember," he winks. "The world will be watching."


	12. Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER 12

Then the world can watch me implode. I don't care. How can I reward the entire nation with more entertainment when it's destroyed my entire life in the name of entertainment?

I look at Haymitch, with whom I fall into line on our way to the train station, with unadulterated disgust. How could he even suggest it?

That's why today, as Haymitch and I descend upon the platform awaiting our next shipment of my uppers and his downers, I am refreshingly unashamed. The world is watching? Well, good. Let them see what their games have done. Let them see what their manipulation has done to this skinny, pale, 19-year-old junkie. My frontal lobe hasn't even completed its development and already I'm destroying its reward circuits with pills. With any luck, I'll be a vegetable by the time I'm thirty and won't have to deal with the whole mess.

I've thought about it before…why don't I just kill myself? I'm off suicide watch now. I should just do it. Then an incredible shame rises up in me when I think of all the lives that were lost as a direct result of my actions—how so many lives were snuffed out in exchange for mine being kept alight. Further, I think of how Peeta endured much worse than I have with the amputation of his limb, the torture in the Capitol, the hijacking. He still manages to trudge along in life and try to cheer me up in the process. It's obnoxious sometimes how genuinely _good_ Peeta is. I keep trying to find his one flaw that will make him human, just the one fatal flaw that lets me know it's okay to not feel awful about never being able to measure up to him—to be _good enough_ for him. Then I realize it's me. I'm his fatal flaw. I'm the only thing wrong with him and it makes me want to push him away further.

Haymitch must read minds because, as we both take our seats on our bench on the platform, he turns to me and addresses me calmly and evenly.  
"Katniss," he says, clearing his throat. "I want to talk to you about Peeta."  
I groan and sink down into my seat. What was this going to be? A sex talk? A talk about playing to the cameras some more?

"No, don't do that. Don't just automatically assume I'm going to lecture you."  
I rub my eyes, trying to fend off the headache that will surely follow this conversation.  
"Okay," I relent. "So you're not going to lecture me?"  
"Oh no," Haymitch says, staring at the vacant tracks. "I didn't say I wasn't going to lecture you. I just said you shouldn't assume things."  
I shake my head. Why does Haymitch have to take a perfectly nice day on which I'm going to get high and turn it into a teaching moment?

"What I said last night has been weighing on my mind," he ventures. "The mentor in me absolutely says you should play the game…have the upper hand in this situation. But something just doesn't sit right." Haymitch hangs his head.

"What do you mean?" I ask after a pregnant pause.

"I chose you," Haymitch continues. "I chose you in both of your Games. Well, you know why. You've got that fight that we all have…all of us Victors. Something's just off about us like we're one point away from being clinically considered mentally unstable."

Instead of being offended, I completely understand what Haymitch means, oddly.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Peeta…Peeta is a lot stronger than I thought. He's a lot more resilient. He is a Victor—just not crazy like the rest of us. I love him for it. He's like…he's like my son sort of, you know?" He uncomfortably tugs at his collar in the afternoon heat. "—Tell him I said that and you're one call away from being committed."

I hold my hands up in compliance and surrender.

"It isn't fair to me to keep choosing you, you know. I have to choose Peeta this time."

"Okay so you love Peeta more than you love me. Where is this going?"

"I didn't say—" he sighs in frustration. "Look, all I'm saying is, for some weird reason, the boy loves you. You're completely unstable and have the warmth and emotion of a vacuum cleaner but for some reason he finds that appealing. I'll never forget when he told me he had feelings for you when we were talking before your first Games. You were both just children then. I could have strangled you when merely the thought of marrying Peeta put you into hysterics."

I look at my feet in shame.

"He's too good for you," Haymitch says quietly, shaking his head. "He's too good for you, Katniss."

I feel tears begin to well up and I struggle to swallow them back into my tear ducts.

"I know," is all I say.

Haymitch and I sit side by side in silence for a few moments before he goes back to saying what he's probably been meaning to say for years.

"Don't mess around with him, Katniss," he pleads. "Not because he's weak; he's not. Because he's too good. You keep pushing him and pushing him so far away and he just keeps coming back. Have you ever thought about what you'd do if one day he didn't come back? I thought having Delly around would help you see that and I think that's what pushed you into his arms."

It's so weird to have this conversation with Haymitch of all people. Then again, he has a front row seat to our own personal soap opera and he's…surprisingly analytical. And accurate.

"I know those articles and those reporters are just going to make you mad as hell and you're going to push back. You don't want to give the people what they want. Why should you?"

I raise my head to look Haymitch in the eye. _ Does _he read minds? I must look surprised because Haymitch gently brushes a stray hair out of my eyes.

"I know you Katniss," he says with a smile. "And whether or not you care to admit it, we're more alike than you know."

I roll my eyes in response. "Okay, Haymitch."

"Katniss. I've spent my life pushing away people I care about. Why do you think I'm such an asshole to you and Peeta most days?"

"Um, because you're an asshole?" I venture (half-serious, half-joking).

"Fair enough. But I had someone once. Someone who was determined to hold on to me, to save me, to pull me up out of my darkness. But I couldn't let her get close. Then she was gone from me forever and there was nothing I could do to get her back."

This little revelation piques my interest. Haymitch rarely divulges personal life details.

"What happened?" I dare to ask.

Then, I hear the familiar clacking of the train approaching the platform and Haymitch jumps to his feet. I rise to meet him and gaze at him expectantly.

"Just promise me you won't make the same mistake I made; for yours and for Peeta's sake. And for mine."

I nod reassuringly to him but in my heart, I just don't know if I can keep that promise.

"What happened to you, Haymitch?" I ask.

But the loud roar of the approaching train fills the station and Haymitch pretends like he hadn't heard me.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N:** Thanks again for the reviews and alerts and reads, everyone! I love the most recent review from Anonymous. Haha. It's funny; after I finished HG I pressured my boyfriend into reading it ("It's good...yeah it's in the teen genre...sure there's a love triangle...but there's blood!...and death!...and dystopian societies!"). It took him a while to warm up to it particularly because he found Katniss's narration to be so whiny. I can neither blame her, though, because I suspect I'd be super whiny about it, too. But I'm hoping that this is just a passing phase and I can work Katniss back to her former selfless, brave, BA self! ...But a more adult, slightly less depressed one?

* * *

CHAPTER 13

Haymitch spends the following week in a drunken stupor at work while I waitress high and constantly scratching myself to the point of bleeding. It's disgusting and I'm sure incredibly unsanitary but oh well. Nobody's died.

This is our usual way of going about things except Haymitch is particularly hosed this week. He especially avoids eye contact with me, knowing that I would once again bring up our last conversation.

Haymitch is always a closed book when it comes to talking about his own life so I know he'll give me no more details. As the week draws to a close, though, I become more and more obsessed with finding out. My curiosity gets the best of me and I broach the topic with a red-eyed, puffy Haymitch.

"It is none of your goddamn business," he slurs at me.

"I just want to know. I'm so confused and if this could help me sort things out—"

"NO," he says firmly. "No. I don't need the whole filthy nation to know about my personal business more than they already do."

"I won't tell anybody, Haymitch. Not even Peeta. It'll stay between us."

Haymitch guffaws and condescendingly pats my cheek.

"Sure it will, sweetheart. Sure it will."

Really, it was a waste of time. I knew I'd get nowhere. Still, though, if Peeta and I are getting this much media coverage, surely there is at least some article in some publication that could point me in the right direction.

I decide to go to the library where I know public documents are kept. If I go back to the time of the 50th Hunger Games, surely there would be some information.

I pore over any news article that matches the target words "Haymitch" and "Abernathy". As I knew there would be, there is an obituary for Haymitch's parents shortly after his return from the Games. My heart sinks for the young Haymitch who was completely blindsided by President Snow's brutality. I had at least been given advanced warning by Haymitch. Of course, the article had blamed the deaths on a faulty line that caused the family to be exposed to carbon monoxide poisoning; all save Haymitch, of course, who was off doing press junkets at the time.

I continue through my search and find an obituary for a 16-year-old girl named Josephine Sweeney.

_Josephine "Jo" Sweeney was found deceased October 20__th__ at the age of 16 outside of the eastern fenced boundary of District 12. Cause of death unknown but autopsy revealed possible bear attack. Jo is survived by her mother, Eithal, three younger brothers: George, Ezekiel, and Threll, and her long-time sweetheart, Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50__th__ Hunger Games. Memorial will be held at the home of the family on November 1__st__ at 2 o'clock in the afternoon._

Haymitch's girlfriend. I thought she had been killed alongside Haymitch's family. What could account for the gap in time between the deaths of Haymitch's parents and her own? This was not the account I had heard from Haymitch who had only stated simply and concisely, "My parents and my girl were all killed off by Snow following the Games."

Who was Josephine Sweeney? What kind of person was it that could love someone like Haymitch—or had Haymitch always been that way?

I print off the article and gently tuck it away in the safe folds of my pant pocket.

I find Peeta with whom I share the article. He's also curious but feels it would be better if we just let sleeping dogs lie.

"Why do you want to know so much anyway?" he asks me.  
"Hm?"  
"I mean, I love knowing what makes Haymitch tick as much as you do but…she died. The Capitol killed her just like they killed our families and friends. Who cares about the specifics? It's deliberate assassination. It's a painful memory."  
"I just…he isn't giving us the whole story. _That's_ what makes me want to know."

"Oh. It's that thing you do," Peeta comments, shrugging his broad shoulders.  
"What thing? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what people want and you do exactly the opposite out of spite."  
We look at each other and I feel like a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar. He's got me. I say nothing.

"Real or not real?" he asks. I can't decide if he says this in irony or if he truly can't determine whether this is my true character or if his perception has been warped by the trackerjacker venom.

"I don't know," I mumble, gazing at the printed news article. "I dunno." I could feel my high begin to wane and I was getting impatient and cranky.

"Just leave it, Katniss," Peeta warns. "Haymitch doesn't ask us about the arena or about our dead family members. He doesn't want to remember. It's why he's drunken himself to near anoxia."

"Haymitch doesn't have to ask us about what happened. Nobody does! Our lives are an open book. I'm sick of everything just being out there for everyone to see. Don't you remember what it used to be like? When nobody gave a shit about us and I was free to starve and be neglected while you were free to be beaten by your mother without anyone asking any questions?"

Peeta looks at me in…well, I'm not quite sure what that look is. I've never seen it before. The best way I could describe it is by saying he had a look of disgust and hurt: his lips and jaw tight, his eyes ablaze. We'd never actually used the word "beat" or "abuse" when we talked about Peeta's childhood but in fact, we didn't need to; everyone at school knew it was true. The way his mother grabbed his arm with such force, the way she spoke to him…when we Seam kids would trod past the bakery on our way to school we could hear her abrasive words and the sickening sound of skin smacking against skin with force. You could never see Peeta's bruises, though. His mother was much too clever to hit him anywhere that would show.

"Right, because that was better."

I glance over at Peeta and I feel hot shame rising up in me. He's right. How dare I bring up past hurts and pour salt on our newly healing wounds? It doesn't matter.

"You know, I'm so sick of you walking around like we've got it so bad," Peeta says and shuts me up. "No, it's not great but we have food and shelter. We aren't fighting to the death in an arena and we're not evading the government's numerous plots to have us killed or tortured. Anything we want, all we have to do is say the word. We've got Haymitch and Greasy Sae and Delly and…and we've got each other. Katniss, doesn't that count for something?"

It does count for something but my pride gets the best of me and I stare through Peeta.

"Life isn't easy now but you know what? It never was. I don't know what you were expecting."

I don't know, either. I hadn't really gotten that far. Really, I guess I'd always assumed I'd be dead before I had to put much thought into it at all.

"Well, what did you expect?" I ask him. He gazes at me thoughtfully for a moment or two before entwining his fingers in the tangled strands of my hair and kisses me lightly on the lips.

"I thought I'd—well, I hoped we'd come back and things would be bad but we'd help each other get through it. We'd make each other happy."

I look down at my feet and hate my very existence. I don't want to be like this forever.

"I'm going to check on some dough I have rising in the kitchen. It's kind of late, Katniss."

Even after I've insulted and hurt him, Peeta is still too decent to outright ask me to leave.

I grapple with the door handle as I feel a sob rising up in my throat. I glance back at Peeta who is wholly consumed with his baking.

And then I do realize I feel like nothing without Peeta. I swore I'd never be like that. I swore I would never allow myself to become so entwined with another man's life so that if his thread was cut, my entire tapestry, my very being would come unraveled. I thought I had always prided myself on being independent, self-sufficient, feminist. I never wanted to be that sappy girl who crumbled at the slightest provocation.

I'm not really sure if it's just human nature, a necessity of survival, or if it's just the circumstances in which he and I found ourselves, but I sadly admit to myself that I do need Peeta for my own survival. Somewhere along the way, maybe half by choice and half by force, we had become entangled in each other's stories and psyches and desires. It was too much to pry ourselves from each other without ultimately compromising our own lives like some weird, metaphorical conjoined twins.

I had been insulted by the insinuation at the time, but it turns out Gale knew me better than I had thought: I did choose the one I needed for my own survival while still keeping him at a distance. I thought about what Haymitch said and gripped the news article in my palm. I needed to stop hurting the people I love but sometimes wounds just have to sting a little before you can move on to the healing part.

I couldn't bandage things just yet.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER 14

I wake up to a soft beeping sound. It's a high-pitched, short tune that is startling yet familiar: the four-note signal Rue and I had used in the 74th Hunger Games. I hide under my blankets, terrified. I must be dreaming.

I close my eyes and wait for reality to crash over me like a tsunami but nothing happens and the artificial, computer-rendered song continues. I cautiously peek my head above my blankets and look around the room. I move to sit up in my bed and am then convinced that I'm not dreaming. Cautiously, I walk toward the living room, prepared for a mutt to attack me at any given moment. I hold my breath. My muscles tense. My senses become more acute as I follow the song toward the telemonitor where I see a small, blue box on the screen with white text.

_You have 1 new message, KATNISS EVERDEEN._

I stare at the monitor. A message? I've never seen this before but then again, there have been ongoing changes with communications in the country now that there are fewer restrictions between districts. It turns out that the electronics, even in the poorest of districts, were more sophisticated than anyone could have guessed. News reports were vague as more details were still being uncovered but it had been revealed that any electronic device manufactured and distributed within Panem had been specifically engineered by workers in District 3. Although the details of their purpose were kept classified by delegating different stages of production to different manufacturing facilities, they were used as a monitoring device for the specific purpose of spying upon citizens.

Since the discovery, Three's new task has been to modify these complex systems meant to divide and oppress the populace into tools to unify and educate all of the New Republic.

A message. I'm not entirely sure how to retrieve it. I walk over to the telemonitor and stare at it for a few moments. Maybe it's touch screen? I tap my pointer finger on the box. Nothing.

"How do I open the message?" I mumble to myself, wondering aloud.

"Did you say, 'open message'?" Asks a resonant, female voice. I nearly jump backward. I look to my left, then to my right, and then peer at the screen. Did the telemonitor _hear _me? Has it been listening in on me this whole time? Does it respond only to my voice?

"I'm sorry. Did you say, 'Open message'?" it booms again.

"Um…yes." I respond.

"You have a message from Gale Hawthorne," the voice says.

I immediately regret having stumbled upon this new technology. The text appears on the screen and the computerized female voice begins to read the letter.

"Katniss," it begins.

"Stop!" I command the screen. It continues.

"It's Gale. I hope this message gets to you okay. I'm writing to—"

"Delete message!"

It stops.

"Did you say, 'delete message'?"

"Yes!" I say, relieved. I didn't want to deal with whatever Gale's message might say.

"Deleting message. There are no new messages."

It's hard enough becoming estranged from a friend. It's far easier to just pretend as though he died in the war rather than think about how his involvement in it affected the present.

Even though it's my day off, I decide to go into the diner. As I make my way through the door, the door chimes ring. I take a seat at the counter and hear Peeta call from the kitchen, "Welcome to The Hob. Someone will be right with you."

We'd decided to name the diner in honor of the Hob which had been our livelihood and the heart of District 12. It was an important meeting place and where people gathered to socialize, eat, and make money. We wanted a similar atmosphere and "Greasy Sae's" just didn't have an appetizing ring to it.

"It's just me, Peeta," I yell back. He peeks his head out of the kitchen window.

"Oh, hey, Katniss," he says. "Isn't it your day off? What are you doing here?"

"It's the first Wednesday of the month."

"Right."

"You make your chocolate choux pastries the first Wednesday of the month."

Peeta laughs. "I _knew_ that was you sneaking them out of the refrigerator! Naughty girl."

I shrug good-naturedly. "Well now I'm being up-front about it. Could I have three pastries and a cup of coffee?"

Peeta shakes his head. "Good thing you're pretty."

A few moments later he appears with the pastries and a cup of coffee. Peeta already poured in the two creamers and one sugar I always take with my coffee. I didn't know he'd noticed and the gesture makes me smile.

"It's nice to see you smile," he says as he sets down the plate in front of me. "Maybe I should make chocolate choux every day."

"Now that's a thought," I say as I take a bite into the pastry. I swallow and add, "But it's the fact that I rarely get any that makes it special."

Peeta chuckles and whispers in my ear, "I know exactly what you mean," and I nearly aspirate my coffee.

He retreats to the kitchen as I recover and brings out a platter of donuts and muffins that he places in a glass refrigerated display case beneath the counter. He walks back to me and offers me a napkin, gesturing to me that I needed to wipe some stray chocolate crème from my mouth.

"Did Haymitch find you this morning?" he asks.  
"Hm?" I question with my mouth full and swallow. "No. Why? Was he looking for me?"  
"Yeah. He wants to talk to you."  
"What about?"  
"Well, I don't know if I'm supposed to say anything but I guess it doesn't really matter," he clears his throat. "I guess we're wanted in District 0 for some press stuff."

"The Capitol?" I feel my heart rate skyrocketing.

Peeta had spent a considerable amount of time in the Capitol, now District 'Oh' as they call it. Apparently, the government didn't want the area to be separately distinguishable from the rest of the districts as the former Capitol so it, too, received a number. For uniformity's sake, they didn't put a District 14 smack dab in the middle of 1, 2, 3, and 4 so 0 it was. The Capitol citizens were up in arms about this because they didn't want to be called "Zeros" as a derogatory nickname for those from the district. They lobbied for a complete change for a few months, seeking to change to a naming system based on the ancient Greek alphabet where the Capitol would be renamed "Alpha" and 13 would be renamed "Nu" but nobody wanted to adopt a new alphabet for writing their district's name and nobody wanted to spend money on modifying buildings, documents, and seals. So after some months, the Capitol relented and resigned itself to being called District 0 or "District Oh". Nobody calls them "Zeros" because, much to District 0's chagrin, nobody really cares. It's just another district. As each district has its own Justice building, it was decided that each year, the Legislature would assemble in a new district and do this on a chronologically rotating basis. Because of its role as a primary catalyst in the Rebellion, this rotation began in District 13. This year, the assemblage again finds itself headquartered in District 0. Each district sends seven individuals to represent its interests. No district is favored. There is, in essence, no capitol at all.

"I don't want to go," I tell Peeta. He just shrugs his shoulders.  
"I don't know the exact details but it's something about a new holiday as a memorial for the Hunger Games. They want all of the remaining Victors there."  
"I don't know," I hesitate. "It would be just as well if no one remembered."  
"Don't forget about our book," Peeta says. "You said you wanted everyone to remember: to remember the lives sacrificed, the horrors inflicted upon innocent children because of a corrupt government and ignorant citizens that turned a blind eye, all of it. Well, here's our chance to make sure they don't forget."

And I knew that Peeta was right and that I couldn't renege. So, like we had initially done so many years ago before our first Hunger Games, Peeta and I were to board a train with Haymitch bound for what had formerly been the Capitol and be Panem's performing monkeys.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N:** A big thanks to Howlynn for smacking me upside the head for writing in such a random, horrible sex scene. Haha. I fully intend to go back and rework that one. I worked a good 11 hours today and have to go in for a half day tomorrow (a Saturday!) so I don't have the patience at the moment.

Anyway, my boyfriend was over Tuesday night and was using my computer. "You should really clear out your history every once in a while," he tells me from the other room. I nervously went through the past few weeks in my head, wondering what embarrassing site I had stumbled onto. I knew it wasn't porn, anyway.

"Hunger Games fanfiction?" he laughs. He proceeds to give me shit for it for about an hour and then promptly goes on Reddit to read memes about super heros.

...He still doesn't know I've written 15 chapters of my own fanfic.

* * *

CHAPTER 15

A few weeks later we shut down the diner for the weekend holiday and Haymitch, Peeta, Delly and I board our train to District 0. As I pack my bags in the storage compartment, I realize that I had forgotten to check the flashing new message on my telemonitor. Oh well, I thought. It couldn't have been too important. I'll probably see whoever sent the message at the celebration anyway.

On the train, Haymitch is unusually unsettled. He isn't blackout drunk but he isn't entirely sober, either. He simply sits on the davenport with the strange, faraway look in his eyes. He's quiet and pensive. I don't like pensive Haymitch. In fact, it's better for everyone if Haymitch refrains from thinking much at all.

I ignore Haymitch most of the day but in the late afternoon, my curiosity gets the better of me. I sit down next to Haymitch silently and stare at him. He pretends not to notice and finally remarks, "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Is there something I should know? Should I be as terrified as you are right now?" I ask him.

"No, no," he says, staring at something only he can see. "It's just that I've hoped for this for nearly thirty years now. Thirty years, I'd always hoped this moment would come but…" and I _swear_ I see the shiny reflection of light from a tear in the corner of his eye before he blinks. We both sit next to each other in silence for a while, amazed at the enormity of the symbolism of this upcoming holiday. Here we are. We've finally made it.

Then, in a strange and rare act of affection, Haymitch wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives my body a light squeeze. When I look at him, the terror and questioning look in my eyes apparently makes him feel the need to explain his uncharacteristic behavior.

"I'm grateful for you and Peeta." I continue to stare at him when he pulls away. "That's all."

I clear my throat, so uncomfortable with any display of genuine emotion. "Yeah," I say, smiling.

"And…and I think I've made a lot of mistakes with others and I think I've made a lot of mistakes with you two. But I hope in all my life, maybe this is something good I can be a part of. I just hope I haven't destroyed the two of you in the process. "

There's a long silence. Why isn't he saying this stuff to Peeta? I search for something, anything to ease the awkward silence.

"How did Josephine die?"

Haymitch's eyes widen and dart to and fro as if to search for an exit strategy. He stands up and moves to the other side of the cabin and pours himself another drink. I watch him closely.

"Haymi—"

"No!" he yells. "I stay out of your romantic life. You stay out of mine. Do you hear me?"

"You have never stayed out of my romantic life," I remind him. "Please, Haymitch."

"Why do you need to know?" he snaps.

"I just…I don't know! You've had control over nearly every aspect of my life since I was reaped and I really know nothing about you. I have no idea who you are." He doesn't respond but instead peers into his glass as if his escape plan were on the underside of an ice cube.

"I probably at least owe you this now," he admits. I wait expectantly.

"Josephine was a girl from the Seam, too. She was even poorer than my family was, I think. I remember hugging her and worrying she might break. I could feel each of her ribs when I tickled her. We'd grown up together. She was the only person I could really talk to. None of the other kids really got me but Josephine…she knew what I was thinking before I even did."  
Haymitch swirls the whisky in his glass.  
"Each year before the Reaping, we'd promise to each other that if we were picked, we'd be brave and win for the other. Win so we could have a better life. Win so she wouldn't be so cold all the time and so her nails would stop breaking and so her hair wouldn't fall out…"  
He takes a large swig before continuing.  
"When I won, my parents were swiftly executed while I was on the Victory Tour. I was terrified she'd be next. Snow kept sending her beautiful roses which delighted her. But I knew better. I shared my fears with her and demanded that she never leave my side for her own safety. We became prisoners within the walls of my new, shiny home in the Victors Village. It was true that we wanted for nothing but Jo couldn't stand being locked away. She needed the sun and to feel the grass on her feet. I was no comfort to her. I became withdrawn, depressed, even emotionally abusive, lashing out at her at the slightest provocation. She tried to convince me that we should run away to escape Snow's wrath so the two of us could live with peace of mind. She wanted to run away and live in the woods or rebuild in District 13. I refused. I told her there was nothing out there for us. She told me we couldn't have a life together like this. I told her to leave then, that I didn't love her. She cried."

Haymitch wipes away a stray tear but tries to play it off as though he's picking an eyelash out of his eye.

"She ran into the woods, determined to prove me wrong. She wanted to find a way out. I didn't hear from her for two days and couldn't find her in the Seam. I decided to head toward the woods since that was the last place that I hadn't searched. A few miles in, I saw her. She was disemboweled and rotting. Her eyes had already been pecked out by the jabberjays in the nearby trees that echoed her screams."

I cover my mouth and stare at Haymitch in horror. He seems so blasé about such a gruesome scene, but at this point he's seen so many Hunger Games and has most certainly replayed her demise over and over in his mind.  
I'm floored. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I brought it up.

"Katniss, Snow didn't kill my Jo because he knew he didn't have to; he knew I'd do it myself. He let me do it, knowing that it would be far worse that any sort of torture he could devise. I don't know if she was mauled by an actual animal or if Snow planted a muttation there, just waiting for her arrival. It was after her death that the electric fence went up. The electric fence couldn't protect us from the monster from which we really needed protection."

What can anyone say in response to this story? Had he ever told anyone about this?

"Katniss, I push away the people I love. It's my curse. I'll push you and Peeta away, too—"

"Haymitch—"

"Shh. No. Listen to me. You and I, we're cut from the same mold. Understand? Don't let yourself become like me. Don't push Peeta away. He doesn't deserve it and you don't deserve it. It's an awful way to live. I'd rather be dead."

"Why aren't you?" I boldly ask. Suicide is a familiar thought to entertain so I'm not shy broaching the topic.

"Why aren't _you_?" he asks, looking me straight in the eyes.

It's the same for every Victor: survivor's guilt.

Haymitch has gotten progressively more inebriated throughout his story and is now slumped against the moulding on the perimeter of the fireplace. It's thankfully unlit; otherwise, Haymitch likely would have burst into flame for the sheer percentage of alcohol content in his blood.

I gently guide him back to the davenport where I coax him into a lying position. As he begins to snore, I take his empty glass from his enclosed fist and cover him with a white, silken blanket.

I silently cross the room, move through the hallway, and find myself at the door to Peeta's cabin.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N:** Well this is a short one but oh well. Reminder: I reworked the sex scene in Chapter 9 so that it's hopefully a bit better! Today is just a sexy kind of day, I guess.

* * *

CHAPTER 16

Instead of being asleep as I thought he might be, Peeta is putting the finishing touches on his sketches for our memorial book. Peeta thought we'd be able to share it with other Victors and get their input before one day publishing the book.

He finishes some shading and then looks up.

"Hi."  
"Hi," I respond, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.

I cross the small room to where he sits on the daybed, take a seat next to him and fold my legs up under myself. As I peer over his shoulder, I see the recreation of his painting of Rue with the flowers surrounding her.

"When the world fell in love with you," he remarks.  
"It's beautiful," I say. Against my will, tears begin to form in my eyes and a sob escapes me. Peeta wipes away a stray tear from my cheek with his left hand. I notice the side of his hand is covered in a multitude of colors from furiously working on his artwork. I kiss his hand and press it to my cheek before burying myself in his arms. "You are," he murmurs and softly kisses my lips. I kiss him back, this time more passionately, and begin to push him down on the bed but he stops me.

His sweet smile is gone and the look in his eyes is cold. I look at him questioningly.

"Katniss, what are we doing?"  
"What?"  
"I don't—I don't understand what we're doing. First we're friends, we flirt a little, then all of a sudden we're sleeping together. Then we barely speak to each other. Now you're here and…well, what _are _you doing here?"

"I came to see how the book is go—"

"No, I mean…what are you doing? I've tried to be patient and go along with whatever this is but I'm so sick of waiting."

"_Waiting?" _I jump to my feet and head toward the door._ "_Waiting! I've let you—I've given you _everything_! What else could you possibly want?" I scream.

My hand is on the doorknob behind my back, ready to turn it and make my exit, when Peeta gets up and I can see the wetness in his eyes. _No. No, no, no. I'm not doing this._ I turn the doorknob and the door begins to open. I can almost hear Haymitch bitching about what a missed opportunity this was to patch things up but in actuality, he's passed out on the couch.

Peeta rushes over and places his open palms on the wood on either side of my head and slams the door shut. We're face to face now and he's looking into my eyes with such an intensity that I feel myself shrinking beneath his gaze.

"You know what I want, Katniss!" he yells, his voice breaking. I struggle to open the door but his strength keeps it firmly latched. I squeeze my eyes shut and tears run down my face. I'd give anything to be somewhere else.

He lowers his face to mine so that our noses nearly touch.

"Katniss," he says, now with a softer tone in his voice which is at a near whisper. "You love me. Real or not real? I need to hear it."

I don't respond. I just hold my breath and listen to the loud buzzing in my ears.

Peeta slams his palms against the mahogany panels which causes me to startle and open my eyes.

"Real or not real?" he articulates slowly, precisely, commandingly.

I turn my head to the side and look away; he moves his palms to either side of my face and grips my head, forcing me to hold his gaze.

"Katniss, please. Please, I need to hear it."

There's a pregnant pause before I burst into tears. "Real!" I sob, nearly inaudibly. "Oh, God…" I cry as I slide down the door to my knees. He kneels and kisses my tears.

"I knew it," he says between kisses, "I knew you did," and gathers me in his arms. He kisses my hair and sighs, "You're so frustrating."

"So are you," I say and sniffle. Peeta chuckles.

Once we've recovered, Peeta begins to kiss me, picking up where we left off. We don't bother to undress each other but just toss our clothing to the side. Peeta teases me with trails of kisses until I pull him closer.

"No- no," he whispers teasingly in my ear.  
"Yes, yes," I whisper back breathlessly.  
"Say it," he commands me and stills himself above me. I stare at him and know exactly what he wants.

"I…" I choke.  
"Tell me."  
"I love you," I say hoarsely.  
He finds his way inside me as he always seems to. That's the thing about Peeta: he knows just how to make himself endearing to everyone. He finds his way into your subconscious, his kindness burrows into your heart and, like a lovely parasite, grows and grows until you swear it could burst and there's not room for much else.

"I love you too," he whispers, looking down at me with his sweet, boyish half-grin. "So much."

And it's because of that smile and those words that I feel myself slowly losing my hold on any power I'd thought I'd had. It's at once uncomfortable and satisfying. I dig my nails into the nape of his neck as he moans into the crook of mine and I know one thing for certain: that this feeling of letting go is terrifying.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER 17**

The East District train stops and Peeta and I are jolted awake as the train brakes suddenly to slow its speed as it nears its next stop. I inch away the cloth panel on the cabin window and see a collection of buttes surrounded by largely eroded flat land.

"Which stop is this?" Peeta groggily asks.  
I continue to look out the window as a lot of the land nearing the lower-numbered districts is just badlands. I always recognized the irony in the turn the terrain took the closer you came to the Capitol—as if the Capitol poisoned the land surrounding it. The dry, flat land was so different and macabre compared to the soft green, tumbling terrain of home. Well, that panorama is slightly outdated; District 12 is looking a little more eroded itself since the Capitol bombings.

Soon, a tall, stone-fortified town comes into view at the base of a dwarfish mountain and I am immediately thrown backward into my own flashback of men and women pouring out of smoke-filled trains, gasping, coughing, and choking. I crawl back into Peeta's arms beneath our blankets.

"Two," I whisper.

The East District train connects districts 12, 10, 9, 8, and 2 before reaching 0. We are getting that much closer to the place that still, in my heart and mind, is inhabited by the most sinister and evil populace in the world. Only a few short years ago, these people were hungry to watch the televised homicides of innocent children by innocent children. The ultimate in gluttony, they ate until their stomachs stretched tight and purged its contents while I rummaged through trash and ate dandelions. These people would have purchased my body for their ravenous sexual consumption. These citizens, touted to be the utmost in high society, seemed less human than the poorest of us in the high districts. They lack empathy or compassion and looked on in amusement at our suffering. No, they were too animalistic only a few short years ago to truly trust.

I feel the hot acid in my stomach rise up, threatening to choke me, so I sit up abruptly.

"Are you hungry for breakfast?" Peeta asks, kissing the small brown freckle at the apex of my bare shoulder.  
"No," I respond. "I need water, though." My mouth feels as though it's full of sour dust.  
We hastily throw our robes over our underclothes and make our way toward the dining car. Through the window, I can see other former victors and other individuals of importance from 10, 9, 8, and 2 soundlessly talking and devouring coffee-soaked butter croissants. A familiar figure stands out to me and I find myself peering at him; within milliseconds of rapidly firing synapses, my brain claims recognition.

Gale.

I stop, wanting to turn back but still longing to sit and break bread with an old friend and fellow soldier. Peeta reaches out a hand and turns the doorknob to the car.

Locked.

We stare at each other in confusion and rattle the doorknob a few times. He must hear the door because Gale suddenly looks up from his coffee. He gets up, a smile broadening on his face at the sight of us, and turns the doorknob with his right hand.

"It's locked!" I try to yell at him, but the glass door is too thick; he can't hear me and his gaze is focused on the doorknob. Peeta knocks on the pane and Gale looks up. Peeta shakes his head and mouths the words, "Locked." Gale's brows furrow in frustration and his gaze turns back to me and he says something. I shake my head. I'm not so great at lip reading, even Gale's lips after so many years of silent communication as hunting partners in the woods. He remembers and holds up his index finger, telling us to wait a minute.

He returns to his booth in the dining car and retrieves a menu. He returns to a tabletop near the door adjoining the two cars, pulls a pen from his pocket, and begins to write on the back of the menu. After a few strokes, he holds the menu up to the glass door for us to read. Sloppily scrawled in all uppercase print, it reads:

I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU AND PEETA.

"At the ceremony?" Peeta questions him directly with exaggerated diction, overemphasizing his lip and tongue movements.

Gale shakes his head. He forms the word, which even I can clearly read, both on his lips and in his facial expression, "Now."

He returns to the tabletop to write his message but a silk cloth panel drops to cover the glass door and Haymitch forcefully pulls me away by my wrist. I can nearly feel the bruise forming.

"Haymitch!"

"What do you think you are doing?" he asks.  
"We were just talking to Gale."  
"Listen to me," Haymitch hisses. "You two have learned nothing. One, do not trust Gale. What about his actions in the Rebellion made you think he's a friend? Two," and this time he grips both my wrists and lowers his face to mine, "I told you to stay the hell out of my love life. It's none of your goddamn business. It's _nobody's _business."

Peeta looks at me as if to say, "_Don't say I didn't warn you."_

"Haymitch," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Shut up. I'm sick of the two of you," he says, looking us up and down. "Go put some damn clothes on." Haymitch retreats to his cabin and slams the door.

Peeta is back at the glass door, attempting to move the panel, but finds that it's become rigid and unmoving on its polished metal rod. I begin to feel claustrophobic. I feel trapped.

"I don't have a good feeling about this supposed ceremony tomorrow," Peeta says quietly to no one in particular.

I look out the window at the passing pine trees of the forest at the base of the mountains and feel my ears begin to pop as the elevation above sea level climbs. The combination of the emotional upset and physical sensations of being a passenger cause the acid to rise once more and I feel the saliva rushing from its glands. I make my way to the toilet and dry heave, finding no physical relief from my anxiety over the following day, whether it was real or imagined.

Once I'm through, I step into the shower with its many settings and just sit myself under its warm, relaxing stream. I feel apathetic about the earlier exchange with Haymitch. In reality, I am simply too exhausted. I'm too messy myself to deal with Haymitch's mood swings and past shames. I should want to be there for him. Should I have hugged him last night? Should I have reassured him that it had probably not been his fault? Should I not have found myself in Peeta's arms immediately afterward but instead, have saved a bit of intimacy and companionship in my heart in order to be there for Haymitch?

I push those thoughts away, knowing now that it didn't truly matter. I couldn't go back in time and take back or modify what I'd done. I have to instead deal with the present. I know that presently, Haymitch is pushing his uncomfortable feelings under with whiskey and I know that as soon as I'm done here, I'll push my own down with uppers.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in update...I've worked a LOT of overtime these past two weeks. I hope it isn't completely evident from the above that I'm brain dead. Next Chapter, they'll be in the Capitol! Or, erm, District 0?


	18. Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER 18

I'm pulled away from my inner thoughts when I hear the door to the bathroom unlock.

"I'm in here," I yell. It closes and then I hear quiet footsteps.

I jump to my feet but find that my balance is compromised on the slippery marble floor and I lose my footing. My arms flail outward in an attempt to catch myself on something, anything, but they only meet slick, wet solid marble walls. I hit my head on one of the knobs and suddenly, everything goes black.

When I ease into consciousness, there's a figure standing over me and I'm practically inhaling the spray from the shower head. A hot poker of anxiety gouges my stomach and my heartrate speeds up. I have to leave. I have to run!

I make an attempt to move away but hear a voice, "No, no. You're hurt. Don't move."

It's been a few years and it takes me a while to place the voice, but when I do, I relax a little.

"Venia?"

"Mm hmm. It's me. I'm sorry if I scared you."

I feel so tired and begin to close my eyes. Just for a second.

"Don't go to sleep, Katniss. You need to stay awake," she says as she slaps my face around a bit.

"Did I pass out?" I ask.

"I think you slipped and hit your head," Venia responds and I groan. A concussion is the last thing I need when I'm in potential danger.

"Well," she sighs after a minute of looking me over. "This will make prepping you for tomorrow a little more difficult than I had anticipated. Unless you don't mind me waxing you while you're lying on the floor like that? You've already exfoliated your skin, haven't you? Yes? Then now is the perfect time."

I'm not going to fight it. Better to get it over with while I'm only half-conscious.

For someone trying to keep me from falling asleep after a concussion, Venia is rather taciturn. You'd think she'd ask for details about Peeta and me and whether or not the gossip magazines were true. Not that I'm up for any conversation, but you'd think someone you hadn't seen in a few years would ask you how things have been going. I'm not one for social chatter but I'm at least aware of what would be expected conversation between other people.

Venia scolded me about my appearance as is to be expected and got me back to beauty base zero. Without Cinna around to save me, I was certain Venia might try to dye my skin or hair or install talon-like nails, but she leaves me at beauty base zero. That's it. She brushes through my hair, braids it, and hands me a blue velvet dress to wear. My mother's dress? How had they…?

But no, it isn't my mother's dress; the material is much finer and it shows no evidence of wear. This is a replica. I look in the mirror and see that I, too, am a replica: a replica of my 16-year-old self on the day of the Reaping, the day I became famous for volunteering my life in place of my sister's. Things start coming back to me. Images flash through my mind, uninvited smells beckon memories hidden beneath the surface. I feel very hot, like the day of the Reaping, and I begin to sweat. I have to get out of the room, away from my reflection, away from the flashbacks. I have to find Peeta.

I open the door and he must have been searching for me, too, because there he is. He, too, is dressed exactly as he had been the day of the Reaping: the same trousers and shirt and shoes. I don't know how they did it, but even his hair is slightly longer as it was that day, shadowing his frightened eyes with blond waves.

We stand looking at each other for a moment, realizing that this ceremony would be far more difficult than we had anticipated, and then fall into each other's arms, no longer stifling mournful sobs. This was emotionally overwhelming. We already relive the Games each night; why are they now forcing us to relive them in greater detail when we're awake?

Haymitch uncomfortably steps in the room to greet us before we are to disembark in District 0 where we will surely be greeted by throngs of press, following us and blocking us as we make our way to the memorial site.

I look up and see that Haymitch no longer has streaks of gray in his hair but it is instead dyed back to its former black hue. His eyes are somehow brighter, a startling silver compared to the murky, muted gray. He wears an outdated style of suit that I assume could only have been his attire the day of his own Reaping. And then I see it: the handsome and arrogant young man who had enraged the Capitol by changing the rules of the game. Little did they know how much the rules would have changed another quarter century after those games. Despite the makeover, Haymitch is clearly weary. This is too much even for him.

The three of us silently walk from the train to the platform where, as I expected, we are greeted by many reporters. They are shouting things and snapping photographs but there's so much happening that I hear and see nothing. My mind focuses only on the two people in front of me without whom I surely could not get through this day with my mind fully sound and intact.

It's a short distance to the site of the ceremony where twelve large stone slabs tower over the audience of important members of society from various districts. Many citizens from District 0 are noticeably absent, probably too ashamed (as well they should be) to participate knowing that they were willing viewers of the carnage for sheer entertainment. Their absence provides me with no satisfaction, however; I wish I could just hide from the horror like that.

We are guided to sit on a stage in front of the stones where I'm properly horrified to find that the remaining living victors are also dressed in their Reaping Day clothing.

President Paylor takes the podium and delivers a brief speech.

"Good afternoon. Today we are all here as citizens of districts united under the New Republic of Panem. We are here to share in the joys and sorrows of our past from which we have risen out of the ashes like a phoenix. However, it was not so long ago that we stood apart. Today marks the first annual Day of Remembrance to honor those children lost at the hands of a terrible hegemony and ruthless dictator. I could go on and deliver a long, drawn-out, flowery speech about the cruelty of it all and how we must never forget the hurt caused when we stood apart and powerless. I could do all those things but I don't need to. All any of us need to do is to look into the eyes of our Victors to know the gravity of these losses. Yes, today is a day to remember those lives lost, but also to honor these brave Victors that stand before us. They are heros: not for winning their games or for mentoring child after dying child, but because of their courage. Despite their many hurts, these survivors have gone on to serve as an example of bravery to all of us. Despite their scars from their own battles, they once again took up their proverbial swords to fight for their freedom and for the freedom of an entire nation. In times of turmoil, let us not forget that we are stronger and braver, when we all stand together, irrespective of the district we call home. Please, a round of applause for the Victors!"

Through my tears, I see the crowd rise to its feet, cheering. I even see some of them echoing District 12's salute. I squeeze Peeta's hand.

"And now, a moment of silence for the many, many innocent children lost in the 75 years of Hunger Games."

The crowd sits and bows its many heads. Tears stream down my face and I feel a wayward tear from Peeta's splatter my hand.

During this moment of silence, a large projector screen rises from behind the stage and moving headshots of all the past Tributes of Games 1-75 scrolled across the screen. As the Tribute's face appears in the center of the screen, his or her name is then laser engraved into the stone pillar corresponding to his or her district. It's all timed so perfectly: in sync and neither too long nor too short. A small wail escapes my lips at the sight of Rue's sweet face and I turn to see her name engraved on the District 11 pillar.

By the time we reach the names of the 75th games, I am so weary from crying that I feel as though I could pass out.

Then, Plutarch Heavensbee appears behind the microphone and delivers a short speech for each of the remaining Victors and how he or she played a role in the second Rebellion.

After his brief spiel about Haymitch, I find myself rising to my feet and walking toward Plutarch.

"Yes? Katniss?" he asks, surprised. I'm surprised myself.

"Um, I have something to say."

"Yes?" he questions suspiciously but moves aside to allow me behind the podium.

"Um, hi," I hear my voice echo and clear my throat.

"Haymitch Abernathy has been a mentor for longer than any of us. In District 12, it was accepted that he was a loner, an alcoholic, and even a madman. He was an embarrassment. He's not a person that is easy to love."

I look over at Haymitch who is staring at me, hurt.

"But…but I love Haymitch. And I know Peeta does." The cameras close in on Peeta, who nods and smiles.

"Haymitch might be all of those things but he's a lot more. Without Haymitch, this Rebellion wouldn't have even happened. And I'm not talking about the whole bit where Haymitch coached Peeta and I to be in love for the cameras to gain sympathy. He set changes in motion even before that. In his Hunger Games, the 50th Games, the second Quarter Quell, Haymitch used a weakness in the Games against the Gamemakers and against the Capitol. He was the first person to make it known that Snow and the prior regime wasn't as perfect or as powerful as we had thought. He used their own weapon against them in that game. Later, in mine and Peeta's Hunger Games, Haymitch would again use Snow's own weapon against him: his own people and his own Games."

The crowd is silent and Haymitch is stunned. I hear Johanna back there somewhere laughing to herself.

I again clear my throat after an uncomfortable pause. "So I guess what I'm saying is…thanks, Haymitch. For everything." He doesn't smile or nod in my direction, though. He just looks at his feet.

The audience is still looking at me expectantly.

"To Haymitch!" I finally say and the crowd promptly rises to its feet and bursts into applause. I hastily return to my seat. I look over at Haymitch and smile but he doesn't make eye contact. He must still be upset about the whole Josephine thing.

"Thank you, Katniss," Plutarch says. "And now, please welcome Miss Effie Trinket to the stage, who will be reading our final tribute for Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, Victors of the 74th Hunger Games and the catalyst for the Rebellion."

Effie jubilantly teeters on her sky-high shoes to the podium.

"I could just burst with pride!" Effie says. "What fine adults Peeta and Katniss have become since their games. Already, at the tender age of 19, they have experienced so much in their short lives and contributed so much to our own lives. They are a symbol of the Rebellion and of rebuilding a life in the New Republic of Panem. They have set an example for all of us for the past few years as we've watched them grow up before our very eyes. They have welcomed us into their home to show us that yes, we can rebuild. They've even managed to rebuild a romance," she says, eyebrows raised, and gives the audience a knowing wink.

Peeta and I turn to each other throughout this exchange with looks of pure confusion. Our silent exchange is interrupted when the audience begins to applaud. It's too delayed to be in reaction to what Effie had said. Something else is happening. I follow the audience's eyes and see that they're focused on the screen behind us. Before I can turn around, I feel Peeta's grip tighten on my hand. He's frozen.

I turn around to look at the larger-than-life projector screen. Because of its size, it takes me a moment to process the large images on the screen but I, too, freeze as soon as I realize what the video clip is showing.

It's a clip of Peeta and I in each other's arms, naked. We both go in for a kiss and _clink_! The audience chuckles adoringly. I close my eyes, hoping to disappear into thin air. I cringe when I realize there's audio.

"_Peeta, I—"  
"Shh. No, Katniss. Please don't say anything."_

Then it cuts to a clip of us from only yesterday on the train.

"_You love me, real or not real?"_  
_"Real!"_


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Author's Note:** Wow, thanks for all the reviews and story alerts, everyone! I'm flattered. This chapter is dedicated to my longtime friend, Kevin, whom I tricked into reading my fanfic and who has sworn on his life and on the lives of his progeny to never tell my boyfriend about how I wrote a HG fic. Ha.

* * *

**CHAPTER 19**

Video of all of my and Peeta's amorous meetings continue to flood the projector screen: our drunken kisses at Haymitch's, our brief kiss at my doorstep, our nights of stories and sketches, our flour flicking fight in the kitchen. The audience is captivated and I just feel captive. I skitter off the stage and don't know where to turn or run. Audience is everywhere. I crawl under the temporarily erected stage and sit with my knees to my chest and cry. Still this! When will my life be my own?

A few moments later, Peeta joins me and pulls me to him.

"How are you so calm?" I ask him accusingly.

"Katniss, this is no different from before. We've always been their freakshow."

"But this_ is_different," I sob. "It's just that…that this time it's…" I can't really articulate what it is, exactly.

He kisses my hair reassuringly.

"Our first time together and…when I said, 'I—'" my voice catches in my throat. I can't manage any more so I just turn away from Peeta, trying to shut everything out.

"You're embarrassed," Peeta states, understandingly.

"Of course I'm embarrassed! Aren't you?"

"I'm certain they've done a recap of that time in Twelve. I just know they've done a play-by-play critiquing my technique."

I laugh at the absurdity, knowing that Peeta's hypothesis was likely based in reality.

"In that case, you _should_be embarrassed," I tease, lightly pushing his shoulder.

"If it were that terrible," he says, tugging a strand of hair that had wriggled free of my braids, "You wouldn't have returned for seconds."

I bury my head in my knees and try to regulate my breathing and relax.

"I just couldn't let them have this, you know?" I say into my knees. "I didn't want to give the people that tried to kill us the satisfaction of yet again having their entertainment whims fulfilled. I love you but…"

And when I look at him, I see the hope drain from his eyes.

"This is what makes loving you so hard."

Peeta turns away and sighs, "Katniss, loving you is much harder."

The silence and tension are thick between us.

"I just mean…can't we have this for just us to figure out on our own without the entire nation weighing in? After how we started, don't you want to know we're one-hundred percent the real deal?"

My question is met with uncertain silence but in a few minutes, Peeta speaks.

"We'll just talk to Plutarch and tell him we never gave anyone rights to that footage and that we want it pulled from the air. Come on."

I place my hand into Peeta's outstretched one and we both rise from under the stage to see Plutarch walking toward us, angrily.

"What are you two doing?" he spits. "This is supposed to be an honorable day and you two storm off, completely missing the dedication of the memorial pillars!"

"Oh yeah," Peeta chuckles. "Today is real memorable all right. What better way to honor the memory of dead children than by broadcasting unauthorized pornographic footage of federally exploited teens?"

"This isn't a memorial," I add. "It's a publicity stunt and a disgrace! We never authorized this footage. We never gave permission for this to be shown and we want those clips pulled from the air, never to be seen by the public again."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Plutarch says.

"You'll do it," Peeta says, moving ominously closer to Plutarch. "You'll do it or else."

"Or else what?" Plutarch laughs.

Suddenly, Peeta slams his weight against Plutarch, who finds himself pinned against District 11's pillar by Peeta's forearm against his throat.

"How many people have _you_ killed, Plutarch?" Peeta questions, lowering his tone in warning.

"Listen, kids," Plutarch chokes out hoarsely as he struggles against the weight of Peeta's formidable upper body strength. "Listen!"

Peeta frees Plutarch from his forearm, crosses his arms, and widens his stance.

"I can't remove it from the air. The whole season's already aired."

Peeta turns to look at me. _Season_? Season of _what_?

Plutarch reads the confused and terrified looks on our faces. "Neither of you knew about…? Come on, you knew. You knew, didn't you?"

"What did you do, Plutarch?" I croak. I'm starting to feel the acid rise again, threatening to choke me.

"It was a reality show. A reality show about your relationship after the war. It was supposed to be a propo in a way, to show how well everyone is doing in the new government rebuilding their lives. I really thought you knew and agreed to it."

"Even so, you can't have the rights to broadcast our lives without our written consent which you obviously don't have," Peeta says pointedly.

"He doesn't need your consent if a guardian signs on your behalf," a voice says from behind us.

We turn to find Haymitch standing before us, taking a swig from his flask.

"Haymitch?" Peeta asks, uncertain, unwilling to believe.

Haymitch looks away.

"I knew it!" I scream, lunging forward at him, trying to strangle him. Peeta catches hold of me around my waist and holds me back and I only manage to knock the flask from his hands.

"I told you. Haymitch only cares about Haymitch!" I yell at Haymitch as I try to wriggle free of Peeta's arms. His grip around me tightens the more I struggle.

"Explain or I let her go," Peeta says sternly.

"The courts determined that neither of you are fully mentally or emotionally capable of caring for yourselves and that you need a guardian despite being legal adults," Haymitch says, attempting to suck out the residual alcohol from his retrieved flask.  
"Peeta's family is gone so having been responsible for preserving his life, naturally, I was the default option."

"My mother would have _never _agreed to this," I tell him and turn to Plutarch. "I_ know _my mother didn't sign. Pull the videos."

Plutarch looks at his feet. "No, your mother didn't sign but consent is documented for you. Haymitch signed."

I look at Haymitch questioningly, menacingly.

"_Haymitch_?"

"Your mother relinquished her parental claims to you and appointed me as your legal guardian," Haymitch says, looking past my shoulder at the back of the screen behind the stage.  
Then, quietly, "She didn't want you to know."

And then, that confirms what in my heart, I already knew: my mother couldn't bear to keep me. She needed a fresh start away from the tragedies of my father and sister. I am indirectly responsible for my sister's death. She needed a reprieve from me and what it meant to be my mother.

"Why would you just sign our lives away?" Peeta quietly asks Haymitch. "How could you just sell us like that? Whore us out to be part of yet another propaganda? What do you get out of this?"

"Money!" he sneers. "Money to care for you brats. Do you think I need to be responsible for you two? I could have just left you to fend for yourselves like I had to fend for _my_self!"

"Don't make this about you," Peeta says.

"No. No, it _is_ about me. It's about all of us. We're broke. We don't have the Victor benefits from the Capitol anymore, boy. You think we can just go out there like anyone else and get a job? You think you can hold a normal job and deal with your demons? Who's gonna hire you? We needed that money to start that godforsaken diner so we could actually build a sustainable livelihood."

"We could've gotten by," Peeta says, trying to convince himself, it seems. "We would've figured out something."

"And support your girlfriend's little drug habit? Don't think so."

I spit in his direction but miss. Haymitch gets in my face.

"I told you, sweetheart," Haymitch gently traces the outline of my jaw with his index finger, "that I'd push you and Peeta away, too," and he lightly kisses my lips.

I struggle and kick to free myself from Peeta's strong arms encircling my waist but he's got my arms pinned to my sides and I can feel my hands begin to tingle, crying out for increased bloodflow. Accepting defeat, I hurl a slew of curses and insults in his direction.

"Stupid kids," Haymitch murmurs and saunters away, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette.


	20. Chapter Twenty

A/N: Whoaaaaa it's been a long time since an update and I apologize. The story has been on my mind but I've been having to work a lot of OT at work and then I went to St. Louis for an entire weekend to go to a continuing education class. Caseload is low right now, though.

I was also a bit stuck. When I had the idea for this story, I had gone about as far as the last chapter where it is revealed that Peeta and Katniss have unfortunately been forced into a reality show chronicling their for-real relationship which, obviously, is more horrific to Katniss than public displays of feigned affection So now I've had a lot of time to think about different possible plot twists and how the characters are going to deal with this very big problem and invasion of privacy.

Thanks for your understanding!

* * *

**CHAPTER 20**

Peeta and I leave the ceremony and walk to the nearby hotel Effie booked for us for our stay in District 0. It had been one of the most luxurious hotels prior to the defeat of the Capitol but has since fallen to disrepair. Despite this, it remains the most beautiful place I've seen. White fur rugs set off the cold, hard granite floors and mirrors encrusted with diamonds line each wall. Peeta and I stop to stand under a large crystal chandelier in the lobby. Even after such an emotionally arduous day, we aren't so entirely beaten that we can't appreciate such decadent beauty. The attention to detail and the contrasting textures and lines reminds me of Cinna. To this day, I will never understand why he chose us. Had he been planted in the best design school by District 13? If I want to know, I have only to ask; however, in the same way I never care to learn Marvel's name, I can't bring myself to further know Cinna. The less I know about my kills, the less guilty I have to feel.

While we gaze up at the chandelier, Peeta grasps my hand. I begin to pull away initially but still my hand in his.

"What are we going to do?" he wonders aloud. I shake my head.  
"I don't know. I don't know."  
"Are we bugged right now? Are there cameras here?" Peeta looks around and my suspicion increases as well.  
"I wonder if the mirrors are actually two-way mirrors," I add. To anyone else, this would be a paranoid delusion, but Peeta and I know better.  
We make our way toward the escalator leading to our floor. All of a sudden, I feel Peeta tense in anger. He snatches a large vase of decorative, jewel encrusted pebbles and smashes it into one of the mirrored panels. The mirror and vase crash to the floor, leaving behind shards and echoes in the spacious lobby.

The clerks at the front desk stare at us with their mouths agape. Shocked, they say nothing.

"Sorry. Accident," Peeta says in their direction. He sounds, in fact, very unapologetic. "You can put it on my room bill. The name's Abernathy, Haymitch." We ascend the escalator. I, too, say nothing.

We reach our adjacent rooms.

"Come in?" Peeta asks.  
"Yeah."

I follow him into the grandiose suite. Elegantly carved steps are required to climb the large bed. At the foot of the bed is a large glass swimming pool, equally as tall. The ceiling is one large mirror panel with soft, multicolored lights affixed behind it. The window drapings are a fine, black silk, with diamonds sewn into a rose floral pattern. Surely this weighs down the fabric but they appear light as air. The room is entirely a black and white color scheme; even the framed photographic art featuring the city skyline is grayscale. The only thing departing from the monochromatic theme is a solitary blood-red rose resting atop the goose down pillow. I shiver. He's still here. He's still everywhere.

We climb atop the bed and fall back into its eiderdown mattress. We lay there silently for a while, staring up at the ceiling—not at ourselves but somewhere beyond.

Finally, after some time, I break the silence.

"I don't want to go back." He says nothing for a long time.  
"To Twelve?"  
"To Twelve. To being afraid to breathe, to move. Constantly being monitored."  
"You'd leave Twelve?"  
"It isn't home anymore."  
"Yeah," he whispers in agreement.

There's a knock at the door and my stomach rumbles, hoping it's room service. Peeta descends the stairs. When he reaches the door, he peers through the peephole and hesitates before opening the door. When he does, I see Gale in the doorway.

"Gale?" I'm taken aback. "How did you find us?"  
"It's not hard," he replies. "Wherever you are, there are flocks of reporters nearby. I'm sure they'd love to know the drama behind why you stormed off the stage at such a solemn ceremony."

I sink further into the mattress as my mind returns to the ceremony. The entire nation has seen Peeta and me in our first intimate moment together. _Gale_ saw this. Oh, I'm not sorry for doing it. I don't appreciate the invasion of privacy, though. Still, though, it seems like yesterday when I was kissing Gale and telling him we'd stay in Twelve and cause trouble together. I can't help but think about how perhaps things would have ended up differently had I fallen in love with Gale instead of Peeta. I doubt the nation would have been interested in a program about us. Twelve would…it would feel more like home.

Peeta interrupts my thoughts.  
"You said you needed to talk to us."  
"Well, not anymore obviously," he says. "I didn't get to you in time."  
"About the programming?" Peeta asks.  
"Yes."  
I jump down from the bed and land solidly on my feet. _Still got it.  
_"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" I ask accusingly.  
"I thought you knew!" he snaps. This is more hurtful than he could have anticipated.  
"Knew? You think I'd actually consent to this garbage?" I spit. I'm inches away from his face when I continue. "You think I'm just a sell out like that?"  
"Well you're a junkie now so who knows what you'd do for some fast cash?"  
"Oh, thanks a lot. God! Some friend you are, Soldier Hawthorne. You brown nose and get a high-ranking job in a favored district and suddenly you're MIA. I guess Seam Blood isn't as thick as I thought it was. If anything, you're the sell-out." This enrages him and we begin arguing over each other.  
"Why would I return to Twelve? To have my family starve some more…?"  
"…Or even a call or visit…"  
"…Call! Ha! You can't talk to me, Katniss. I can't talk to you. No one can! Except…" and now our eyes find Peeta who is standing there, patiently waiting for us to finish. We cease our back and forth for his sake; had we not, I'm sure we'd have managed to go in circles for hours.

"How did you find out we didn't know?" Peeta asks Gale.  
"I _tried _messaging you, Katniss," Gale says and then I recall the telemonitor message. "I messaged you right after that episode aired. The episode where… well. It was pretty clear that it was impromptu."  
Peeta's brows knit in an offended grimace and I know he'd wondering, along with me, what _that's _supposed to _mean_.  
"I know you, Katniss," Gale says quietly. "You're a private person. You wouldn't knowingly allow the nation to be in on that. Not even if you needed cash. You're too proud for that."

A tear escapes my eye. I feel entirely taken advantage of especially after delivering that stupid speech about how great Haymitch is when we've been meal tickets to him this whole time. My mother relinquished custody of me. I feel more alone than usual. Typically, at the very least, I can count on Peeta for companionship and understanding but now…now pursuing any sort of relationship with him means relinquishing any privacy and control I have left in my own life. My gaze falls on Peeta before shifting back to Gale. I feel very much between that proverbial rock and a hard place.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

I had a bit of writer's block but after two separate trips to the state capitol to try to obtain my license so I can legally work (each trip consumed eight hours of my day), I started to develop more of a storyline in my head. So...I hope this is an OK continuance!

* * *

CHAPTER 21

Peeta says he's tired and wants to go to sleep to get the day behind him but I know he wants to give Gale and me time to talk. It's the first time we've seen each other since I've been back in Twelve. After securing a job in Two, he immediately moved his mother and siblings out to live with him. I'm still not sure what his fancy new job even is.

I give Peeta a reassuring peck on the cheek and Gale and I both wish him goodnight.  
"I won't be out too late. Can I have your room key so I don't wake you?" Peeta looks somewhat relieved as he hands over the key before retiring to the bed.

Gale and I walk along the corridors of the hotel and, finding no suitable external seating area on the floor and not wanting to invite him back to my room, I suggest the hotel bar. I lead Gale away from the main staircase to avoid the angry clerks who had witnessed Peeta's earlier fit of livid ruination.

Fortunately, the bar is dimly lit enough so that people don't recognize either of us—or, actually, maybe they're too inebriated to really care being that teetotalers tend not to frequent bars at 18 hours.

We seat ourselves on the tall platinum stools. The illuminated bar countertop is comprised of a melee of crushed materials: black granite, rubies, and yes, I think diamonds. The beauty of the combined stones reminds me of glowing coals and I feel a twinge of sadness thinking both of soot-dusted home and of Cinna's talent with various raw materials.

"Sir, what will you take?" the bartender asks Gale.  
"Nothing for me for now, thanks," he replies.  
"And for you, dear?" he asks me.  
"Whiskey, neat."

Gale gives me a disapproving sideways glance but keeps his thoughts to himself. I face him fully and give him the glance right back.

"Fine. A glass of water, too."

The bartender disappears around the corner of the bar.

"So," Gale starts. "How are you holding up with the most recent development in the public life of Katniss Everdeen?"

I shrug my shoulders, trying to buy time. I honestly hadn't thought about how I felt. It's hard to analyze much of anything when you're consumed with lividness.

Fortunately, as I work this out, the bartender returns with the whiskey and water. I can't tell if there are actual chilled diamonds in the glass that are keeping the whiskey cold or if the bartender disregarded my order and put diamond-shaped ice cubes in my glass.  
"Should I put it on your room tab?"  
"Yeah, thanks," I say and take a sip.  
"Name?"  
"Oh. Yeah. The last name's Abernathy. Room 19-84."

Gale chuckles a little and steals a sip of my whiskey. I snatch it back a little too possessively.

"So?" he asks.  
"So what?"  
"How are you?" I swish the alcohol around in my mouth a little before swallowing.  
"Sick of always being kept in the dark on things. Sick of never having any privacy. Sick of nothing ever changing."  
Gale sighs.

"Everything's different, Katniss. Things are better now."  
"Maybe for you. Nothing's changed for me. My life is still not my own. It's just that instead of it being Snow's or Coin's, it's the entire nation's."  
"You're a beloved and influential figure. Don't you know what that means? What kind of power you have? You can influence anything from politics, to fashion, to…" he picks up my drink and takes another big swig. "To even the trendy new drink of choice."

"Yeah, I know what it means," I counter. "It means my personal business is all over everyone's screens. Everyone knows what I look like naked, Gale!"  
"Can't get it out of my head," he teases as he passes the glass back over to me. I guffaw and nearly push him off the stool before burying my head in my hands.  
"I don't feel powerful at all," I say, the sound slightly muffled in the clamminess of my hands. "I feel humiliated and violated."

Gale pats my back.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you. I guess it's different from where I'm standing."  
"Yeah," I say as I trace the ring of condensation left on the counter where my drink had previously sat.

"You know, people still make death threats," I say, staring absentmindedly as the water ring distorts under my fingers.  
"To you?" he asks, sobering up.  
"Not directly to me, no," I clarify. "But there are people…people here in the Capitol—"  
"District 0," he corrects me, looking around nervously.  
"—That liked the way the old government was run. They liked the privileged standing they had."  
"Don't they love freedom from oppression more?" Gale asks, uncomprehendingly and I shake my head.  
"Guess not."  
"Don't worry, Katniss. You have more friends than enemies. More friends in high places."

"Like Plutarch and Haymitch? Ha. Some friends they turned out to be." I slam my hand on the countertop in anger, scattering what had remained of the condensation ring. "I thought those telemonitors were turned off now. I thought we were using them exclusively for communication between districts…not for government monitoring."

"Government monitoring? No," Gale reassures me. "Not President Paylor's government. This isn't like the old government. Not at all."  
I glance at him dubiously. He continues.  
"Beetee was going to completely rewire the connections but the budget didn't allow for it. Not yet."  
"So you're blaming this gross invasion of privacy on budget cuts?"  
Gale shrugs and I'm incredulous.

Gale orders a beer and I continue to sip my whiskey while we sit in silence for a long while.

"So what are you going to do now?" Gale asks suddenly.  
"Go to bed, I guess. What else would I do?"  
"No, I mean about the show."  
"I honestly don't know."  
"There's a job opening at my company if you need an honest way to support yourself. You can stay with my family and me if you want. I mean, we're pretty much family anyway, right?"

I find myself considering this. Maybe Seam blood really is pretty thick after all.

"And Peeta?"  
"Sure, Romeo can come, too. I only have one position, though and only one small spare bed."

I throw my arms around Gale. I know what this could mean for his family in district 2 and it likely wouldn't win him favor with its inhabitants since there are still some who sympathize more with the former government and the way things had been run. The hug goes on a little too long and I pull away.

He walks me back upstairs to my room adjacent to Peeta's and we stop in front of the door.

"Thanks, Gale," I say and he hugs me again. Each of us stands there awkwardly for a minute; he, waiting for me to open the door and arrive safely inside, I think.

I, however, prefer not to sleep alone ever again.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER 22

I slide into bed next to Peeta, exhausted from the emotional turmoil of the day. He wasn't asleep.

"Everything ok?" I ask.  
"I was waiting for you. It's hard for me to sleep without knowing if you're okay or if…if you're even going to come back."  
"Oh, Peeta," I sigh and push the hair away from his face before lightly kissing his forehead above his left eyebrow. We lay there for a while in each other's arms, neither of us easing into sleep.

"What's on your mind?" I ask.  
"Same thing that's on yours."  
"We have to figure out a way out of this. There must be something."  
"Maybe we could talk to Haymitch and let him know we'll do our share and support ourselves. He can have all the money from the show."  
"That won't be enough for Haymitch. Where's the money from his Victors fund? He drank it all."  
"I could try talking to him."

I say nothing as I'm dubious about the efficacy of Peeta's proposal but I don't want to start a fight with Peeta. I just want to sink away from the world in his arms.

"Peeta?" I ask into the darkness.  
"Yeah?"  
"Gale said we could come stay with him in District 2."  
Peeta says nothing. I continue.  
"He says he has a job for me…or for you. Just one job. But we could live with his family and support ourselves away from the cameras and the influence of Haymitch."  
"I don't think so. Beetee and Plutarch could still tap into the telemonitors at Gale's."  
"But Gale's family would have to sign a release form and I know they wouldn't do that to us. Gale makes plenty of money for his family."  
"Yeah, and what about at that job then? Everyone's just out to make a buck nowadays. What about anywhere else we go? We can't just live our lives as prisoners."  
"We already do, anyway." I roll to my opposite side away from Peeta.  
"I'll talk to Haymitch tomorrow," he says.

We sink into a fitful sleep where I have dreams about camera lenses with fangs dripping with blood following me everywhere I go. I'm thrown into that pit of shiny orange bubbles when the lenses lean over the precipice and bring their fangs into focus. Suddenly, all their flashes start going off at once and I am blinded by a bright white light. I begin to scream.

"Katniss! Katniss, dear…stop!"  
I wake to find Effie Trinket in front of the large picture window, dressed in a chartreuse peplum dress with a feathered fascinator atop her head. The curtains are still moving from the jarring effect of having themselves been disturbed by the cheerful promptness of our handler.

Peeta cradles me in his arms to let the panic attack subside while Effie recounts our itinerary for the day.

"First, there's the welcome brunch at 10 hours with all the top Republic officials—oh, it's been so long since we've seen President Paylor! Won't that be nice? After that, you'll have some free time for shopping or having your nails done or something wonderful before being brought back to your prep team at 1330. Now that you know about the show, we've scheduled a press junkit with Ceasar Flickerman to interview you two about your future plans, promotion of the next season of your show, and a plug for the silent charity auction you're going to tonight. That's at 1745 with a _delightful_ catered gourmet dinner and drinks. Then tonight at 22 hours you will be hosting the opening of a new nightclub so I hope you've gotten plenty of rest! Now it's time to get up, up, up so we can get your prep teams in here to freshen you both up! We need to have you looking respectful for the brunch-"

Effie talks so quickly and seems to fit so many words into one breath that it's impossible for me to get a word in edgewise.

"Effie!" I yell. She stops mid-sentence, looking as though I've just punched her in the face. "I'm not going to any of this stuff. No one told me about this."  
She looks disappointed but not defeated.  
"Well!" she huffs. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."  
"Katniss," Peeta says. "Let's just go to the brunch and interview at least. Maybe we could talk to the officials about the legality this whole thing and try to get the nation to sympathize with us."  
"Maybe _you_can do that, Peeta. You know me. I'll just lose my temper and everyone will leave with a sour taste in their mouths. You're the boy with the golden tongue. You convince them."

"Peeta _can't_ do the interview on his own!" Effie wails.

"Fine," I say. "I'll join him for the interview. That's it."  
"But what about breakfast?" Effie demands. I don't want her to assign me something else to do in the meantime.  
"That's just it…I—" I think for a moment. "I already had plans with Johanna Mason for coffee this morning. We need to catch up."  
"Oh! Excellent! Guest-starring Johanna Mason!" she claps her hands. "That'll garner a lot of buzz for the new season!"

I get up and go to the bathroom under the pretense that I should shower while Effie briefs Peeta on his day ahead. Fortunately, by the time I finish showering and drying my hair, Effie is gone.

"Ugh. She's gone. Thank goodness."  
"You're welcome."  
He walks over to me, removes my towel, kisses each bare breast, and replaces the towel.

I hug it closer to me protectively. "Peeta! There may be cameras!" But I smile in spite of myself because it's very difficult to be upset with Peeta.

"Sorry, I forgot." He taps his right temple with his forefinger. "Must be the brain damage," he says playfully, knowing full well that we actually probably have a fair amount of brain damage.

"My prep team will be here pretty soon so if you want to escape their criticism, you should get dressed and go 'meet Johanna.''"

I throw on a knee-length tunic with a long lightweight jacket over it since the mornings here are a little chilly. I look around and all I see are my leather hunting boots so those go, too.

I give Peeta a quick smile before rushing out the door to dodge the prep team sauntering down the hallway toward the room. One of them might have called out my name but I just hurry my pace to gain greater distance between myself and the group. I must not have been paying attention because I careen into someone else.

"Watch it, ugly," I hear the familiar voice say.  
As luck would have it, it's Johanna Mason.

"Johanna!"  
"Not even a sorry. You were a heinous bitch before but stardom has made you even more wretched. Congratulations."  
"Sorry. I was…in a hurry to get away from the prep team."  
Johanna looks me up and down with a look of disgust.  
"I don't blame you. I'd probably strangle you with that jacket myself. Who dressed you anyway?"  
I look down at my outfit and say defensively, "Me."  
"Evidently," Johanna chuckles. "Are you even wearing a bra?"  
I think about this for a moment.  
"I honestly think I forgot to put one on. Oh well. Can't go back now. What are you doing up here anyway? Aren't you on another floor?"  
"Yeah. But Effie found me in the hallway and mentioned something about how you and I were meeting for coffee and I knew it was a cover. I thought I'd see what you needed because I'm just nice like that."  
"Well," I shrug. "We're already out and I could use some coffee."  
"Yeah, me too," Johanna says. "They confiscated my morphling on the train so I need something. Got any?"  
"No. I didn't even bother trying to sneak it through."  
"Coffee it is, then."

We walk out the lobby and down the street a few blocks where I find that we're being followed by a group of videographers hurling insults and asking ridiculous questions. I'm a little frightened, actually, but Johanna remains composed. She offers no instructions but I figure I should just follow her lead. I assume that this was the standard treatment for a Victor even before the rebellion. I hadn't gotten the chance to bear the weight of being a celebrity. When I wasn't in combat in the Games or in the War, I hid away in District 12.

We reach our destination at the coffee shop. Instead of going inside, Johanna turns around and holds up her arms.

"Listen! Listen!" The crowd quiets down. "We have an important announcement from District 12 so get out your voice recorders for our statement!" The buzzing mass fumbles in their bags for their recording devices while Johanna slips in the shop, pulls me in, and locks the door behind us before anyone was the wiser. She nods in the direction of the shopkeeper.

"I locked the door," she states simply and takes her seat. The shopkeeper begins to protest.  
"Or, _Katniss Everdeen_ and I could leave and you miss some free publicity. Imagine the business you'll get when people see pictures of us as patrons in your shop."  
"Oh, but of course, Ms. Mason. The coffee's on the house."  
"I'll take a Triple Death. Katniss, too. She looks like hell."

The barista hurries to make our orders ahead of the other patrons in the shops while the videographers stand outside taking video and pictures of Johanna and I. Johanna laughs.

"I wonder what they'll say about us," she muses. "Katniss and Johanna: Secret Rendezvous!"  
I laugh nervously as she pets my hand suggestively.  
"Quick, touch my boob!"  
"No!"  
"I'm just joking!" she huffs. "…Unless you're going to do it."  
I roll my eyes and shake my head but I can't help but laugh. She's a pro at brushing off this kind of stuff.  
The waitress brings out our drinks. They're impossibly bitter and it's not long before my heart is beating out of my chest and I'm talking a mile a minute. Johanna sits down her coffee and puts on her serious face.  
"We need to talk," she says. I roll my eyes again. "I'm serious!"  
My face drops. "What is it?"  
She has a grave look on her face when she takes my hand in hers and inhales deeply.  
"We need to talk about your technique in bed."  
Offended but surprised, I shove her hand away, cover my face with my other hand, and laugh in spite of my embarrassment. I know that because of the massive amounts of caffeine dilating my veins, my face must be redder than usual. Upon seeing it, Johanna laughs maniacally. Maybe I should have gotten a coffee with Johanna sooner.  
She stops laughing and pats my hand that's resting on the table and stares me straight in the eye.

"But seriously, Katniss."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER 23

Johanna and I attempt to catch each other up on each other's lives and situations since the Rebellion and find that neither of us have much to say as, up until this point, we've spent the years in a drugged stupor. But Johanna has been diligent about her therapy, she says, and was at first frightened to leave her house. Crowds made her skittish and would throw her into a state of raw, animal panic just a few years ago. Now, she controls the crowds.  
"One day I just realized…we still have so much power. We made that for ourselves, you know."  
"Right," I scoff. "So much power right now."  
"Oh, blah," Johanna rolls her eyes. "God, you're whiney. Your options are to sit there and cry about it some more—over a situation you can't control right now—or you can put on your big girl panties, get creative, and _use_ it to your advantage."  
"Use it to my advantage and be just like all the other Victors, accepting gifts and money and secrets in exchange for being whored out for the Capitol's pleasure? Because that's what it feels like."

Johanna gives me a dirty look. "Watch it now." I realize what I just said and I feel like dirt.

"Sorry…I didn't mean…"  
"Whatever. Look, I didn't say anything to you about the show because I really did think you finally wised up to what was offered to you and decided to take it. It was only shortly before the ceremony that I talked to Haymitch. He told me to keep quiet about it because neither of you knew."  
"I_ thought_ that was you laughing when I was giving that speech about how fricking fantastic Haymitch is."  
She smiles good-naturedly. "Ah, yeah. Sorry. I tried to hold it in but the whole situation was just too pathetically hilarious. The look on Haymitch's face was great. Shit. He just…oh, it gives me goosebumps thinking about that stupid guilty look on his face, that bastard. Well, that's what he gets for treating you like idiots. You act like idiots."

And now I'm beginning to feel that coffee, actually, was_ not_ a good idea. We sip our coffees in silence for a moment.

"I just don't want to sell myself like that," I say quietly. And I think back to what Peeta said on the roof of the Training Center before our first games and how differently I felt at the time…how I was willing to do whatever it took to protect those that I love—including playing the Game.

"You're naïve. Games or no Games, Capitol or no Capitol. It's part of growing up, Katniss. You make allowances and compromises and do things you didn't think you'd do. You find out the system and you try to make it out alive and get yours in the process. It's called life. Life is its own Games and baby, I intend to be a Victor. No matter what. Now go get yours."

The reality sinks in and I'm thoroughly, thoroughly disappointed and disillusioned. Johanna's been around the block, though, and she knows a thing or two.

"Gale offered me a job," I mention casually. "A job in District 2. I could live with the Hawthornes and get away from this."

"Yeah?" she asks dubiously. "Well that was awfully nice of him. What's in it for him? What about loverboy?"

"He said Peeta could stay."

"Hm." She considers it. "A love triangle. Possible threesome. I like where you're going with this one especially since Gale's influential with a District that has citizens that are sympathetic to both the New Republic and the old ways."

"What? No. That's not what I meant."

"Then you _aren't_ thinking like a Victor."

Shut down.

"Actually, I was thinking that since he has a job with such a high level of security clearance, there is no way we could be filmed where he works. And the Hawthornes wouldn't authorize filming in the home."

"What about Peeta? He's okay with this?"

"Well I don't know…"

Johanna slams her ceramic mug on the table in anger, spilling a little scalding coffee on her thumb.

"Ow! Shit! Katniss! You have two good-looking, influential men that both have huge hard-ons for you—" I begin to refute this theory. "Shh. No. Shut up!"

She lowers her voice. "Listen to me. Haymitch has been able to keep you and Peeta hidden away in District 12 under his watchful eye while there have been threats made on your life."

I'm taken aback. I mean, I suspected this but I didn't know.

"Did you know that? There are people that have fallen very far from grace because of the way things are now. You and Peeta started this whole thing and they want it to die along with you. There are people with a lot of influence and with a lot of money that don't like what's going on here. This show you and Peeta have going on…it's keeping the masses happy. It's keeping you alive."

I try to think of something to say but I come up empty-handed.

"You're such a twat. Gale and Peeta are both gorgeous and you just complain, complain. Bone either one of them. Or both. I don't care. Personally, I'd chose Gale but Peeta's pussy whipped so hard right now which frankly, is incredibly unappealing. It's good programming, though. I get a lot of good laughs out of it. I'm a little jealous myself you lucky bitch. But it takes the heat off of me while still being able to reap the benefits of your freakshow."

"What are you getting at, Johanna?" I demand angrily.

Johanna looks up and sees the disgusted, offended look on my face. She softens her face and holds my hands in hers.

"What I'm saying is…you have better odds of not being assassinated with either one of them. Stay single, and you can kiss your skinny ass goodbye."

I scoff. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. What kind of feminist message is this? Slut around to stay alive?"

"I didn't make the rules, babe. I know this isn't what you want to hear but I'm just trying to help you. You still need an alliance. Choose wisely. And remember, the world will be watching."

I jump up from my seat and glower at Johanna. "Seriously? It's like I'm talking to Haymitch."

"Yeah, well Haymitch and I have been around the block a few times. You're still new to this game."

I move away from the table and Johanna smacks my behind…hard.

"Remember, girl: get it in and get yours."

I storm out of the shop into a flurry of camera flashes. I look back in at Johanna before rounding the corner. Johanna winks and blows me a kiss.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER 24

I considered what Johanna said and find that I'm a little disappointed. I thought Johanna was openly defiant towards the Capitol and all its debauchery. Maybe I had misinterpreted her defiance to be something heroic and that she had been stubborn out of principle and had some kind of personal ideology. Maybe, in fact, she was only defiant when she felt under Snow's thumb and it was something that didn't directly benefit her. No, I can't believe that. If that were true, why would she have risked her life for both Peeta and me?

I'm deep in thought when I feel a hand grab my wrist. "Katniss!" I'm pulled back toward the voice and I panic.

Without bothering to see from whom the voice had come, I swiftly whip around toward my would-be attacker and am blinded by a bright light. A tactic to stun me and disarm me, I'm sure, so that my aim is thrown off. I blink away the black dots floating across my vision until I'm able to see a troupe of two or three figures surrounding me. I deliver a middle roundhouse kick to his stomach which knocks him flat to his back and quickly move into a low reverse roundhouse kick to knock the next off his feet. The flashes continue until I am nearly blind. I don't know where the other two assailants went. I lean in closer to my second opponent who is beginning to rise to his feet and squint my eyes to find his face so I can deliver a punch to knock him to the ground once more. However, I see something…glittery. I think perhaps it's just a visual disturbance but no, it is a District 0 man wearing glittery lipstick. He's shaven his eyebrows and replaced them with a golden glitter as well. He holds a camera in his other hand.

Back from the coffee shop, I hear Johanna's voice calling out for me. "Katniss! Katniss you crazy bitch! Stop!"

She sprints to me and is sure to pull me away from my potential victims.

"Katniss, those are _photographers_, brainless!" I blink both in confusion and in an attempt to clear my vision.  
"Wh-what?"  
"They just wanted your picture!" She huffs and puts her hands on her hips, looking me up and down. She puts a few strands of hair back into place, pinches my cheeks for color, and turns me to face the photographers once more. She taps my cheek in a manner that if somewhere between a pat and a slap and says in a sing-song voice, "Smile!"

"Here's your picture, guy. Make it quick."

The flash goes off a few times and Johanna rearranges herself in various poses, making sure to pull down the collar of her shirt a bit and push out her chest.

"You're welcome for saving your life and your livelihood. You must be new. I guess next time you'll think twice before grabbing a Victor like that. Keep your damn hands to yourself." She shakes her head, takes my hand, and walks back with me to the hotel. We walk in silence but I smile a little, getting that sisterly feeling again.

"Shit," she says under her breath. I look at her and she must have caught the smile on my face. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face. I'm glad you got the rage out of your system but you're going to have to control yourself from now on."

I stop walking and the inertia pulls at Johanna's shoulder in a jarring motion. I sneer at her.

"Ugh," she sighs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. It's your first go at this kind of thing. I know there was the Victory Tour and stuff but you and Peeta have been—well, relatively lucky. You've been spared from a lot of the weird stuff, anyway. Any of us would gladly trade being forced to marry Peeta over what we were actually afforded."

And then I feel guilty knowing what I now know. Thinking about how Haymitch and Johanna's entire family and friends were executed, how Finnick and countless others were forced into prostitution, how Johanna and Peeta were mercilessly tortured…and me, I'm relatively unscathed except for the guilt and self-loathing that goes along with that knowledge.

"Just be careful, Katniss. Around everyone. We still need to be watching every move we make."

I say nothing. She must be joking. After all we've been through, she and everyone else surely must know that we're like cornered wild animals and could go berserk at any moment.

"They don't see it the way we do, Katniss," she says, apparently reading my thoughts. "It's just not real to them. They don't get it. They won't get it for a number of years if at all. Probably not for a few generations, you know? To them, we're still all somehow less than human. We're still animals in their circuses."

"I thought things would be different," I say. "I didn't…I just—"

"It's going to take time. Hundreds of years of prejudice doesn't just undo itself. They either need to figure it out soon or we need to force them to."

We reach the doors of the hotel and walk up the stairs. At the landing of Johanna's floor, we stop. Before we part ways, she says, "By the way, you know what happened today will be a hot subject on Flickerman's show tonight. Think of what you're going to say about it."

A sinking feeling comes over me. The interview. And sure enough, when I reached my room, there was my prep team and a steaming Haymitch in the sitting room of my hotel room. Haymitch marches over to me and tugs on my braid, leading me over to the prep team. It hurts but I don't even wince.

"Haymitch. I'm surprised you'd even show your face around Peeta or me so soon after yesterday."

"Oh, baby girl," he says, patting my cheek condescendingly, "Guess I just missed ya." He takes a swig from his gold flask emblazoned with the Mockingjay emblem. Ironic.

"I heard about your little run in with some photographers today," he says, wiping some alcohol from the corners of his slack mouth.

"How? That just happened probably about fifteen minutes ago."

"Word travels fast. And I don't appreciate you misbehaving when I'm supposed to be looking after my poor, insane little mentee." Venia runs the brush through my hair and it catches on the tangles. I inhale sharply.

"Katniss!" she scolds. "When was the last time your brushed your hair?"  
"The last time was when you brushed it, probably," I say, inhaling sharply.  
"I told you that you should be brushing it at least three times a day to distribute your natural oils to protect the hair shaft!" She sighs and attacks my hair some more. "And your hair is so thin now! It's coming out in clumps in the brush, Katniss!" She clucks her tongue.

"Must be from the stress," I say, matter-of-factly, looking at Haymitch.

"Or maybe it's because you'd forget to feed yourself and brush your own hair without me there to remind you," Haymitch points out. "You'd be happy to live in the woods like a wild animal." Swig.

"It would be easier to contend with wolves and bears rather than put up with your binge days where you'd probably choke on your own vomit if Peeta and I weren't there to roll you over on your side," I counter.

"You and Peeta? I think you mean just Peeta. You're too busy feeling sorry for yourself when you're not under him." I try to get up but Octavia, being the biggest of the three, pushes me back down while Venia works out the tangles with her comb. This is convenient. I'm sure this was planned and Haymitch knew I couldn't go anywhere with my tender scalp at the mercy of my prep team.

"Full disclosure, Katniss," he continues. "Delly never had a thing with Peeta. They never slept together. She's a shitty actress but Plutarch found the perfect role for her. Anyone could see that she clearly had nothing but feigned interest for Peeta—except for you in your green jealous haze. I thought it might work but I didn't know it'd push you into bed with him so fast."

And then the prep team begins spritzing my face with water—wait, no. Those are tears. I think it even took Haymitch by surprise. I'm so, so tired of my feelings for Peeta being constantly manipulated to serve someone else's agenda. I'm too exhausted for rage anymore.

Haymitch seems to let down the hardass façade and squats down in front of me.

"Katniss, did you even think about doing anything to…to prevent…so you and Peeta…" he trails off and sighs while having apparent and intense interest in his shoes. "I'm no good at this shit," he says and takes a drink. "Damned kids."

My stomach drops and my tears dry up. No. No. That had not even occurred to me. My mother was consistently emotionally unavailable and was very much lacking in the parenting department. Of _course_ she hadn't had that talk with me. I didn't know the first thing about preventing an unwanted pregnancy or taking charge of any part of my reproductive health. Who knows if that had ever even previously been a right afforded to girls and women in District 12? Maybe there was no actual need to talk about it. Maybe that's why Gale had thought it so absurd that I would even consider it an option to _not _have children of my own some day.

And now it occurs to me that it's a very real possibility and that, for all the power and aptitude I had experienced in the arena and on the battlefield, I had not at all been given the power or ability to look after my own reproductive rights. Without question, Johanna unintentionally made it clear in just a few short hours: now is _not_ the time.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER 25

I feel the blood rush from my face. Haymitch must be able to see it, too, because a satisfied grin settles on his face.

"Oh, so I guess you hadn't considered that. Well that'll make a good addition to the show."  
I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Haymitch puts a hand on my shoulder.  
"Don't worry, Katniss. I had your most recent shipment of morphling formulated to have oral contraceptive hormones in it, too."  
A flood of relief washes over me.  
"You're a mess, Katniss. A damn mess. If you and Peeta didn't have me and Sae looking out for you, you'd be knocked up by now for sure. Well, no, you'd probably be dead before then. Died of malnutrition or an infection from bed sores or something. Self-injury, maybe."  
"_I'm_ a mess?" I say. "Look at the pot calling the kettle black."

But there's no way I can argue with him- as much as I want to. I know he's right. He's absolutely right. And so what if I'm a mess? We're all messes. It's part of being a Victor. It's part of having lived an impoverished life and forced to grow up too quickly with too little actual knowledge with which to arm myself.

"I've made my mistakes, sweetheart. I can at least guide you in the right direction. Well, maybe not the right direction but I can at least steer you away from certain and hopeless self-destruction."

I don't say anything. I feel too ashamed at the downward spiral my life has since taken. I feel like I don't really know what my purpose is anymore. I mean, this whole thing started as an effort to save my little sister and keep my mother safe. Now that I have neither of them to motivate me to succeed in whatever I happen to be doing, I feel completely and utterly lost. What's the point anymore anyway?

He kneels in front of me and takes my hands in his. I cringe at the affection and try to pull them away but he holds onto them and speaks to me in a low voice.

"Keeping you and Peeta famous and in the limelight is the only way I can keep you two safe and fed," he says in a slow and measured voice. He looks me square in the eye. "People are more likely to notice that you have gone missing if your wildly popular show is canceled and goes into syndication. I couldn't tell you that in front of the media or in front of Plutarch."

"How can I believe you?" I ask him. "How can I trust that this isn't just another story that you're feeding me?"

"If I didn't care about you two, why would I have gone through all this trouble to keep you alive all these years?"

"I don't know. To use us to fulfill your own political agenda?"

"Maybe a little. But if that were my sole motivation, dear girl, why would I have even bothered with either of you in the first place? Why would I be bothering with the two of you now? We have independence. If I didn't care, I could have easily fed you two to the Capitol months ago after your release. Remember how Finnick was sold? Let's just say he wasn't the only one familiar with that scene. I know the people you need to know to make some dirty cash and quick friends."

I look away, reminded once again how Peeta and I have had it relatively easy in some respects.

"Listen. Just go to the interview tonight and we'll take it from there. The interview is an integral part of the marketing for the show. We need to show that you and Peeta are still truly unscripted or they won't buy the show. Be coy. Keep your right hand folded over your left for the whole show. Keep them guessing. And for godssakes, let Peeta do the talking."

I've considered that maybe I'm keeping myself alive to ultimately make everything up to Peeta who unselfishly (well, maybe it wasn't entirely unselfish) had endured torture to make it back to me. Maybe I've owed him this. Maybe I need to endure this to make it back to him. I think it's the right thing to do but every fiber of my being disagrees and wants to revolt. I'm confused. Every option seems disagreeable and I feel trapped. _How has Haymitch done it all these years?_ I think as his hand begins to turn the diamond-cut doorknob.

"Wait—Haymitch?"

He turns around. He says nothing. His face says nothing, either.

"Why did you put up with the fame and the media and all the obligations of being a Victor all these years? It's terrible."

He thinks about it for a moment and says slowly, carefully, as if he's weighing the importance of his words, "I was like you, Katniss. Initially. But soon I realized that…I wasn't alone. And nothing was going to stop the horror. Not then. The necessary things hadn't fallen into place to facilitate a coup just yet. But if I bailed and checked out completely or hung myself—" he looks into the distance briefly, probably fantasizing about the noose he'd never tied.

"I realized that if I didn't keep on being me and pursuing what was right, nothing would change. And hundreds of kids would just keep murdering each other, completely abandoning their humanness in the confusion of the Games," Haymitch continued. "My mentor was checked out and completely useless. Do you know what he said to me when I asked him if he had any advice?"

"'Stay alive?''" I countered, twisting my mouth to one side and alluding to Haymitch's first piece of advice.

"He told me to remember that the other kids are all my enemy. But I looked at Maysilee's wide, childlike eyes. She was so young: just twelve years old. And when I looked at her, I didn't see an enemy. I just saw a little girl that I had seen playing at school with her friends. She had no intention of hurting anyone. She had never had any thoughts of destroying the Capitol. None of that had crossed her mind. She was so small and terrified and—" His voices breaks and I feel my throat tightening to suppress my own sobs. I knew the feeling too well and Rue's small chocolate eyes staring up at me penetrated my thoughts.

"Maysilee wasn't my enemy. Even the Career who had nearly killed me wasn't my enemy. I realized something I had never heard anyone say: the Capitol is the real enemy. The greed, the apathy, the collective narcissism. I wanted to stick around and make sure no other District 12 Tribute forgot who the real enemy was. And four years ago…well," he says quietly with what I swear is the tiniest of genuine smiles, "I finally got two kids who already knew."

I nod my head in understanding and manage a small smile myself. For all his snark and rough exterior, I have to believe that Haymitch really has his head in the game and is headed in the right direction. It's just easy to get concerned since there's a fine line between genius and insanity.

And right on cue, Haymitch snaps back to his old self.  
"Venia, contour her tits and sprinkle some glitter or whatever the hell it is that you do on there. We don't have much to work with and we've gotta work with what we've got. But hey," he adds, not one to deliver a half-hearted compliment without some kind of backhandedness, "At least it's far more than what we ever had to work with before."

"Thanks for noticing, Haymitch," I offer up dryly as he makes his exit.

"Hey, don't mention it," he says through the crack. "We have to make sure the audience is distracted by _something_ so they don't pay attention to whatever comes out of your mouth." He closes the door before I can formulate a response.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER 26

Peeta and I are being fitted with microscopic microphones backstage. He's wearing an ombré suit with all the colors of the sunset. I'm sure Peeta loves the nod to his preferential color, but it looks a little ridiculous. I've been stuffed into a skin-tight, nude-colored lace dress. The bodice is unlined and stops mid-sternum so that it leaves little to the imagination. I'm relieved, however, that my hair has been left down in its natural wave. I move my hair anteriorly so that it provides a little more coverage but I can tell by Peeta's ill-concealed glances that it does little for me in the way of modesty. I'm beginning to miss the days of frilly, girlish dresses. Against my prep team's better judgment, I'm in thin, four-inch heels. I can silently and gracefully tiptoe my way across the forest floor in pursuit of game but put me in heels and it throws off my gait entirely. You may as well butter my bare feet and push me onto a wood laminate floor.

"Where did they place your microphone?" Peeta asks. I just shrug in response.  
"Here, I'll help you find it," he says, running his hands tantalizingly up and down my frame. The action is somewhere between a loving caress and being frisked for IEDs. I playfully swat at his hands.

"Stop!" I hiss, only half-annoyed. "You don't want to go out on stage with your pants not fitting right, do you?"  
"They never do when you're around anyway," he says, wrapping his arms around me. He lightly kisses the helix of my ear but I can feel his hot breath against it. I close my eyes in spite of myself and lean backward into his embrace. He knows exactly how to set me ablaze.  
"I can't wait to get out of here and get you out of that dress," he half-whispers into my ear and I find that I have goosebumps.

It's short-lived, however, when I hear a quiet throat-clearing sound.  
"Um," Effie says, looking at her glitter-encrusted shoes. "Don't forget, though, you have that charity auction after the interview," she says unapologetically.

Peeta sighs and loosens his hold on me. "I'll be right back," he says, defeated. "I'm going to splash my face with some water." He begins toward the bathrooms.

Effie shuffles after him in her nightmare of a pair of shoes. "Wait! Peeta! You'll ruin your make up! We don't have time—"

Peeta waves away her protest. "Don't worry about it, Effie," and pushes his way through the door.

Effie dejectedly returns to my side, smoothing down some strands of hair that had loosened themselves from the uniform waves."

"You look ravishing, dear," she says. "You're a perfect example of how beauty and finery still have a place in this new world. You've been an example to all of us about how so many things still have a place in the new government. We can accept each other's differences." And then she looks into my eyes with something…new. It's a questioning, approval-seeking gaze that surprises me. It's an expression that punctuates her last statement with an anxiety-ridden question mark.

I concede a small smile and nod my head. This seems to please her. Outwardly, I look so together today. Inwardly, though, I know I'm no example for anybody. Moody, unpredictable, dependent—that's not who they want to see. They, like Effie, want the beautiful Girl on Fire with confidence and power to assure the public that things can change. Things can change and they can be different but still okay, too. My personal experience hasn't exactly followed that model, though.

Peeta returns about five minutes later looking harried and flushed.

"You ok?" I ask him.  
"Fine!" he says, shooting me a perturbed glance. I openly laugh at him.

The lights come up on stage and Flickerman appears amid a rush of wild applause. Effie claps her hands excitedly and squishes the three of us together into a sort of huddle hug.

"Okay you two," she squeals, "Shine like the gems you are!"

She pushes us into the wings as Caesar begins his introduction of us. Scenes from the show are recapped during his intro and I'm again reminded of the extreme embarrassment. I can barely make out anyone's faces from the crowd but I see their eyes trained on us with adoration and what I could swear is something expectant and hopeful. And then I get it: Peeta and I are supposed to help be the national glue holding the districts together as we rebuild and try to unify into one nation.

"Please welcome The New Republic's sweethearts, Panem's unofficial prince and princess, the couple on fire: Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen!"

And as if a switch has been flicked on, Peeta and I turn on the smiles and walk on stage, waving. The crowd is wildly cheering and throwing fragrant flowers up on stage at our feet. After I blow a kiss to the nameless faces, I freeze. _What am I doing? _I grip Peeta's hand tighter until we make it over to the overstuffed couch next to Flickerman.

Once the applause dies down, Caesar says, "Katniss. Peeta. How about a kiss?"  
Peeta playfully leans in toward Caesar for a kiss and the crowd laughs, delighted. Caesar pushes him away and laughs good-naturedly.  
"No, no, no! Not you, Peeta!" Everyone has a good chuckle and quiets. I lower my head, declining the request for PDA on national television.

"Your show has been a runaway hit. The two of you captured our hearts in the games and have captured our hearts again, rekindling your love after so much hardship. Tell me about what that's been like, Katniss."

"Well," I start. I clear my throat. "It's been…difficult. The nightmares—" Caesar cuts me off.  
"Peeta, tell us about the restaurant. Whose idea was that?"  
"Haymitch's, I think," Peeta says.  
"Oh, that Haymitch is certainly…spontaneous! You never know what you can expect from him!" Caesar says, delighted.  
"That's for sure," I mutter. If Caesar hears me, he ignores the comment.  
"So. Katniss," He takes his hands in mine. "Tell us about your open struggle with addiction. How has that affected your relationships?"

I say nothing and stare at my hands. My nails are perfectly manicured in a matte nude color. One nail is studded with a diamond. _My addiction?_

"I'm not...an addict. It just helps me get through the day and takes the edge off. Many Victors self-medicate in some way. We have to do something with our anxiety or we'd probably snap and go on a killing rampage at the slightest provocation."

I feel my stomach drop as I realize that I've given Caesar a perfect transition. Pictures of me beating some of the videographers flash across the screen behind us.

"Tell us about the incident earlier today," he says, clasping his hands beneath his chin.

"I haven't had a dose in a few days," I deadpan, glancing at the photos. The audience laughs.

"These things happen," Caesar says, patting my hand. "But sometimes," he continues, "These things hurt the ones we love." Edited video from the show plays…the scene in the shed with the deer. I didn't think there had been monitoring equipment in there being that the shed was built after Snow had been killed. Haymitch must have authorized the installation.

Peeta bristles.

"I'd never purposefully hurt Katniss," he says.

"Of course not! Of course not! But, is it fair to say that your time with the Rebels and your involvement in the war has left the two of you…broken? Lesser versions of yourselves?" Caesar asks. I'm shocked but, looking at Caesar, I can see that his question is entirely serious.

"W-what do you mean?" I falter.

"Having grown up in a district like Twelve has, as we all know, left you a little less stable and more violent to begin with. In your months of captivity in District 13, away from the Capitol, this must have simply unhinged you, poor things. Without the generous support and guidance of the Capitol, it must have been very difficult for people like you to get along and to be able to exist in the present reality," he explains.

The true prejudice of the Capitol hits me like a ton of bricks. Victors had always been celebrated, dressed up, and paraded around and I had always thought it was to honor their bravery and strength. The truth is that it was no different than dressing up a chimpanzee in finery and clapping each time it smoked a cigar or smiled or did anything remotely humanlike. To them, we aren't as refined or intelligent or cultured. We, those from the higher districts, are somehow _less human_.

It begins in my stomach and rises up in me like hot acid. My anger spreads its wings like a mockingjay ready for flight.

"_People like us_?" I spit. "People like us from the districts? Did you even know that _people like you_ abducted Peeta and tortured him? You tortured Johanna, too. Our minds are fragile from the Games. Peeta's wasn't. Peeta only came undone when your Capitol hijacked him."

The members of the audience are looking around at each other with puzzled expressions and talking nervously amongst themselves? I hear the word "hijacked" whispered over and over in questioning tones.

"Hijacked?" Caesar echoes.

"Capitol doctors held me down and injected small doses of trackerjacker venom into the arteries in my neck so it would go straight to my brain. They played altered video and audio to change my memories. They tried to make me a mutt so that I would become a weapon against Katniss," Peeta explains in a calm and even voice, looking straight into the cameras.

Caesar has lost his winning smile and his ability to charmingly improvise just about any lighthearted banter. His face is unreadable.

"Thank you, Katniss and Peeta. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, everyone!" There are a few instances of staggered applause but mostly, the room is paralyzed with silent confusion.

Peeta and I are ushered off stage. Caesar continues as I struggle to hear his closing statements.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sad reality that we are currently facing. The poor people in the districts are withering under the rule of a District 13-controlled republic. Our own Victors are not being properly cared for. Violence abounds. These people are unfit to care for themselves as evidenced by the now abusive relationship between two former Victors treasured for their undying love for each other."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I thought things would be different now that the rebellion has ended.

_Watch how little things change_. I hear Haymitch's voice echo in my head.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER 27

I'm livid.

I stomp ahead of Peeta, past Effie, past the prep team—

"Katniss! Katniss! The charity auction! You said _nothing_ about it! You _have_ to go back!" An exasperated Effie pleads.

I stop in my tracks and turn on my heels towards Effie. I know Effie is a pampered buffoon concerned primarily with image and social standing, but she must be a complete idiot if she can't see what is wrong with this whole situation.

"Shut up, Effie!" I get in her face. "This is my life, Effie. The games and circus surrounding my life was supposed to stop after the first game but here we are. I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you facilitating it!"

Her face falls and I begin to see tears well up in her eyes. I look down, feeling terrible all of a sudden. Effie is silly and she can't help that she's a product of her environment, lacking any sort of depth or empathy. She always means well. But I don't feel like apologizing. I'm through with apologizing for wanting any sort of control over my own life. I continue on, exiting the door backstage onto the street. I forget I'm half-naked and the cool air is jarring. I look up and find that the clouds echo my current mood. The dark clouds are moving across the sky rather rapidly, ushering in a cold front.

As I walk the streets of the city, I'm bombarded by flashbacks from the rebellion. Everywhere I look, I am acutely aware of former bombing zones. I hear a nearby train rushing into the station and lose myself after that. I can't account for how long my mind had been rummaging through past traumas but what I know for sure is that when I came to, I was hiding on the side of a building, soaking wet. It has begun to rain—no, storm. I thought I was trembling in fear or cold but I looked up to find Peeta shaking me.

"Katniss? What are you doing? Go!" And I'm transported to our first games.

"Cato's right behind you!" I yell. "We have to find shelter!"

Peeta's face looks at once confused and terrified. He lifts me from the ground and hugs me close.

"We're okay, Katniss. We're safe right now. We're in District 0. The Games and the War are over. The date is—"

And suddenly, he pulls me out of the fog and I'm back to the present reality.

"What am I doing?" I ask him, confused, cold, and so very tired.

"Let's get back to the hotel," he says, running the back of his hand gently down my mascara-streaked left cheek.

We walk a few blocks, developing blisters on our feet. My heels are long gone by now and I really don't know where I've left them. I'm certain to contract some sort of disease walking barefoot on the dirty streets; I'd walked around barefoot so often as a poor child in the Seam that I'm hoping my feet have formed a sufficient amount of calluses to protect me.

Peeta and I earn disapproving glances from the hotel clerks. I'm not sure if this is because of the Flickerman interview or because we're dripping puddles of water on the freshly waxed floors, but either way, I don't care. We ascend the staircase and walk into Peeta's room. Despite my awful mood, the grandeur still isn't lost on me and I immediately retreat to the fireplace to warm up.

"Here, let's take off our clothes and set them in front of the fireplace to dry. We can't leave these cold wet clothes on or we'll get sick," Peeta says.

"Sounds like a fire hazard," I remark.

"Good," Peeta shrugs, wrapping his arms around me to undo the many buttons down the back of my dress. "Then let the city burn."

Flash. A boom. I see the city before me, medics running, a blonde braid, smoke—

But before I can descend into another flashback from the rebellion, I'm pulled back to reality by Peeta's soft fingertips grazing the skin on my back. I'm tired. Today has been a stressful day full of triggers. I give into his touch, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath his fingertips. I shiver.

My dress is skin tight and plastered against my body so it takes some doing to remove myself from it, but finally, I am freed. I wipe the remaining make up off my face with the dress and ring out my hair onto the floor. Who cares?

"Effie would faint," Peeta says, his forehead crinkling in good humor under the wet hair plastered to it. We laugh in spite of ourselves, there, naked, in front of a fire. It is so odd and not at all romantic given all that had happened in the day, but it is comforting and warm and good. I lean into Peeta's embrace, taking in the smell of him and the smell of rain. Muscles I didn't know were tense begin to unknot themselves. Peeta leans down to kiss me and I lean back against his chest, losing myself in the kiss. His lips are soft and part when they meet mine. I realize how odd it is that, up until now, I hadn't given my full attention to how it even felt to kiss him. I've kissed him so frequently but I've never really focused on how his lips felt or how he tasted or how his stubble stung my upper lip and chin just ever so slightly. A kiss had always just been that: a word, an act. It wasn't a feeling or an experience. It was evident in the footage from the show, I now realize. It was evident in footage from the Games with the exception of that one kiss…the kiss when I realized that my debts to Peeta were endless and I'd like to spend forever repaying them.

"You're shivering," he says, breaking the kiss. "Let's get under the covers to warm up. The fire isn't working for us anymore."

We climb into the bed and under the white eiderdown duvet. We both look at each other and I'm sure we are a sight to behold: rain-soaked, tired, weary. Still though, I feel calmed looking into his eyes and kissing his crooked smile. He pulls me closer, closes his eyes, and smiles into my hair. It's so nice and yet I feel almost repulsed at the familiarity and near-romance of it. It's a bit foreign and uncomfortable and I keep wondering what I'm going to do to ruin it.

But before I can jinx myself with my thoughts, Peeta's lips are on my neck, peppering little kisses to my collarbone. I begin to feel warm and the damp cold retreats from my bones. My heart beats faster with each kiss. My hands graze each inch of his skin, curious to see what will elicit some kind of reaction. We had had sex before but it was never inquisitive like this. Before, it was like chugging a bottle of wine to intoxication, to get there. Now, it's like appreciating a fine wine, testing the different flavors on the palate.

And I cringe for even thinking such a stupid, fluffy thought. I'm quickly led away from any negative thoughts, though, as I brace myself for the feathery, tickling kisses on my ribs. I giggle breathlessly.

"Oh, Katniss Everdeen is ticklish?" he grins, and runs his fingertips lightly across my ribs. I try to wriggle free from the torture but he stays me, my pelvis pinned against the bed under the weight of his pelvis bone. I'm pinned. I brace myself but find that Peeta has stopped. He has a strange look in his eyes and I wonder if this has somehow triggered something darker.

"What?" I ask him. "What is it, Peeta?"

He smiles and looks down at me. "Nothing. I just want to look at you and remember this forever. You're beautiful, Girl on Fire."

I wrap my hand around the nape of his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Girl on Fire. No one will ever let me shed that skin. Not even Peeta.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER 28

Peeta places his palms on the bed on either side of my face, trapping strands of my hair and pulling mercilessly at my scalp. It sends tingles up and down my spine. His hipbones dig into mine sharply.

I am trapped.

I place my hand in the middle of his chest to push him off and sigh deeply in frustration. Peeta's cheeks are flushed a bright pink and his hair hangs messily over his eyes. He needs another hair cut. I look at him and his face is a large question mark.

"Peeta…" I whisper his name.

I'm disappointed in myself. It isn't out of lack of love or desire that I pushed him away. In fact, I long to pull him back onto me, to feel his weight, to smell his skin, to kiss his lips.

"I can't," I say. He sighs in exasperation and sinks back into the pillows.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," I apologize, covering my flushed face with my hands. "I can't do this. I can't do this thinking there are cameras everywhere. I can't continue being the Girl on Fire. I just can't do it anymore, Peeta."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even said it," he said.

"It isn't just that. This isn't us. This just isn't right. Look around at this. It's…it's…I feel like I don't even know who I am. We're who they tell us we are. Still."

We lay there, staring up at ourselves in the ceiling and saying nothing. The heat between us has cooled considerably.

"Peeta," I say to his reflection in the ceiling. "I need to get out of here. I can't stay in Twelve with Haymitch."

"Stay with me," he says.

"I need to go somewhere else. I need to figure out who I am and what I'm going to do. I can't just be stuck in Twelve working for Haymitch and having our lives on display because it's easy. I don't want easy and I know you don't either. Remember what you said that night on the roof of the training center? It would have been easy to win if we just teamed up with the Careers and killed indiscriminately like wolves."

"This isn't like that Katniss," he says, losing patience.

"No but I can tell you exactly what will happen. We'll get married soon and then we'll have babies. Our kids will grow up in front of the cameras. They'll belong to the public. And Peeta, look at us." We both look at ourselves in the mirror hanging over us and see two ghosts. Peeta's prosthetic is askew. My skin over a quarter of my body is mottled and discolored.

"We're still healing. We need time. You know we'll be pushed to move things along. We in no way can have kids. We're too messed up."

"Katniss," Peeta moves closer to me, encircling me with his strong arms. "I want that for us—"

"I do, too," I say, cutting him off. "I mean…I think maybe I could want that. But now…" I gently adjust the prosthetic. "So much has happened. We can't be good, responsible parents when we're constantly waking up screaming or having flashbacks. It's all we can do to take care of each other." I entwine his fingers in mine. "I love you. I can't not love you. You're so good, Peeta. Your heart is just so good and I want to be my best for you. If I stay in the Victors Village being part of some fake world controlled by Haymitch and Plutarch, I can't be my best. We'll just be stuck in the same old post-games mess. If I knew that's how it would be, I would have eaten those berries."

"So what now?" he asks.

"I don't know. Maybe we should take Gale up on that job offer," I suggest.

"Maybe," Peeta says, unconvinced. "We'll figure it out in the morning. Let's just go to bed."

The next day at breakfast, Effie and Haymitch arrive to first admonish us and lecture us about not honoring prior engagements, et cetera, et cetera. I simmer in resentful silence. Afterwards, they begin to discuss our plans for departure that evening.

"Katniss and I aren't returning to Twelve," Peeta states nonchalantly. Haymitch chuckles and looks at me.

"This your idea, sweetheart?" he asks. "Well, that's a lovely idea but I'm afraid you are legally obligated to return with me seeing as how I'm your legal guardian and you are under my care."

"What are they going to do, arrest us for not boarding the train for you? Put us in straight jackets and usher us onto the train?" Peeta asks, sarcastically.

"No, but stay here and try to travel any place or purchase anything and you will be arrested and deported to District Twelve. You can't take care of yourselves, anyway." Haymitch rises with his plate and returns it to the room service cart. He peruses the selection, selects a small bottle of something alcoholic, and moves for the door.

"Haymitch," Effie calls after him disapprovingly. "You have not asked permission to be dismissed. We're in polite society now."

Haymitch turns around to look Effie in the eye as he silently escorts himself out of the door without breaking eye contact. The three of us complete our breakfast in silence.

"Well! I am very disappointed in everyone's conduct on this trip. I will see you off at the train station this evening. Have a lovely rest of your day," she says with a cordial smile but with disdain in her voice.

Shortly after Effie's departure, Peeta and I begin packing our things. I'm unsure of what my next step will be. I'm silently formulating some kind of plan in my mind when I hear the door creak open and see Haymitch walk in. He stumbles a bit toward us. Well, that certainly didn't take long.

"You two. Sit," he commands us, pointing at the sectional sofa onto which the old Capitol seal is still repeatedly embroidered. Not wanting a fight over seating, we both comply.

"It's no use trying to talk us into cooperating, Haymitch. Neither of us want any part of this any longer. We won't be manipulated into fake scenarios to further the plot of the show—" Peeta begins but is cut off by Haymitch.

"Ohhhhhh that's what you think?" he slurs with a titter. "You think I tricked you two into bed with each other?" He laughs. "That's adorable, trying to maintain your innocence. Yeah, some old drunk pervert made you two bang." He takes a quick swig from his gold monogrammed flask engraved with flames: a gift from Effie, I'd guess.  
"Please. Anyone with eyes could see that was going to happen. It would have been good programming to draw it out even longer and ramp up the suspense, yeah. Plutarch told me to. But honestly, I was more motivated out of pity for you, boy. Katniss has to think everything is her idea and her idea alone or she won't do it. She's mean and stubborn as a mule like that. If anything, it was an act of charity." He bows before Peeta. "You're welcome."

I'm steaming but I can see laughter in Peeta's eyes. I scowl at the two of them.

"'Haymitch: what an asshole. Haymitch is taking advantage of us. We're the victims here,'" he mocks us in a cartoonish voice.

"That's what it looks like from where I'm standing," I say.

"Well, sweetheart, where you're standing isn't the best position right now. You know your mother came to me, right?" I feel like the wind has just been punched right out of me.

"Yes," he continues, a bit more soberly and a bit less taunting now. "She told me she couldn't care for you with your father and Prim gone and that she needed to concentrate on her work. She couldn't care for an insane assassin. She wanted to throw herself into her work and start over. She couldn't bear to go back to Twelve."

Strangely, I don't begin to cry. I feel like I should cry but I just don't want to. I feel… nothing. Haymitch and Peeta examine my face for signs of any emotion but come up empty. Finally, Peeta pulls me closer into his arms and I just let him hold me, unsure of what else I should do.

"She's a very selfish, spineless woman, Katniss. I can't believe you have half her genes. But she isn't Seam like us," Haymitch says, looking into my eyes with his identical albeit bloodshot steel gray eyes.

"So you're saying money didn't motivate you at all?" Peeta asks coldly, still skeptical. "Are you truly expecting us to believe how benevolent you are to take us in after having fulfilled your plans to use us as political pawns?"

"Oh money absolutely motivated me," Haymitch says. "I'm not an idiot. I drank away a lot of my Victor benefits and slut money. We need to live somehow and now with Paylor in charge, booze is taxed like nothing else. But here's the thing: I'm not too far away from fifty and if my liver were a cat, it'd probably be nearing its ninth life. I don't know how long I can be around to care for you two and mentor you through post-games life. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't dipping into the cash for myself. The truth is, I've hidden a lot of the cash away for after I'm gone."

I feel a pang of guilt now for not giving Haymitch some credit or even humanity.

"Thank you, Haymitch. Thank you for thinking of us like that," Peeta says, inching over to give Haymitch an awkward sort of half-embrace. Haymitch grips Peeta for a bit longer. "I was a piece of shit for much of my life until you two came along. Boy," he adds, whispering a little too loudly into Peeta's ear, "You're my favorite."

I roll my eyes, still unsure whether Haymitch is just openly being a drunken mess or if he's putting on a grand show, knowing he can at least reach Peeta with affection and sentimentality. I lean more toward calling bullshit on this whole thing.

"I need you two just as much as you need me," he continues. Peeta sighs and I can practically see him waving his white flag of surrender.

"We all need each other," Peeta agrees. "We'll work it out on the train, Haymitch. But right now, your decision-making is a little impaired. Go pack and we'll see you in a few hours when we depart."

Haymitch sloshes his way out of the room. He makes an attempt to close the door but it creeps back open once his hand leaves the doorknob. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. I applaud.

"That was a lovely performance," I say, sarcasm dripping from my words. "Don't tell me you fell for that."

"Performance or no performance, he isn't wrong: we do need each other." He just shrugs.

I smile half-heartedly and give Peeta kiss on the cheek before exiting through the same ajar door. _These are all very nice sentiments_, I think. But that was the first mistake anyone made: needing somebody else. Had I needed my mother, I'd have been dead already ten times over.

I find myself knocking at another identical door. I hear some shuffling inside before hearing the occupant's feet against the floor. The footsteps stop before the peephole in the door.

"Catnip?" I hear the familiar moniker muffled through the door. Soon, the heavy door swings open and I find Gale in the midst of packing as well.

"I'm coming with you to Two," I say, resolute.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**CHAPTER 29**

My scalp is burning. Is it on fire? I keep craning my head to search for my reflection in the mirror to ensure my hair still sits atop my head. I want to scream.

Unfortunately, it's not a dream.

Each time I turn my head, Flavius lightly slaps my hand to remind me to face forward.

Then, a towel around my head and I'm waiting at a table with a mirror in front of me. Octavia opens a canister and empties the contents into a bowl.

"There you are," she says.

I stare at the floating objects in the shallow bowl, trying to discern what they might be. Octavia seems to ignore the puzzled look on my face.

"What am I looking at?" I ask.

"Why, cosmetic lenses Katniss. Haven't you ever heard of them?" She asks. I shake my head no.  
"You put them in your eyes."

"Like…like eye drops?" I ask and she giggles.

"No, no. They suction to your eye ball. To change the color of your iris!"

I'm aghast. There is no way I'm going to suction something to an organ as delicate as my eye.

"Isn't there another way?" I ask.

"Well, yes. They could change the color of your eyes permanently with a laser beam. Tigress had that done to make her irises yellow and into the shape of a cat's! It was the first of its kind. Just brilliant! She said it was terrifying, though. You have to stay awake during the procedure and she said it's like you are blind the whole time!" Octavia sighs. "But you know what they say. Beauty is pain!"

Suddenly, the lenses don't seem so horrible after all.

Octavia instructs me in how to insert them. It's difficult and they keep popping out or inverting from the impact. By the time they are both properly inserted ten minutes later, the whites of my eyes are as red as a rabbit's. But my eyes are an unmistakable bright blue.

"Now," adds Octavia. "You may leave them in for up to three months. After that, you must insert a new pair. I'll put the extras in your toiletry bag. I'll bring you back to Flavius."

Flavius washes the burning liquid from my hair and shampoos something foul-smelling into it. He walks away. I sit there for what seems like forever. I massage my neck, worried it will be stuck in a backwards position for the rest of my life after this.

My hair is again washed, conditioned, trimmed and styled. Flavius leads me to a mirror and I stand in front of it. He runs his fingers through my hair to loosen the waves he has added to my hair. I look at myself in the mirror and begin to cry.

Flavius's face drops and Octavia covers her mouth delicately with her green-tinted hand.

"Oh, she doesn't like it!" Octavia exclaims.

"No, no, it's lovely. You both do lovely work," I say as I dry away a tear, take a deep breath and try to compose myself. "It's just…it's silly."

"Oh, I know you're nervous about leaving home. And leaving Peeta. But imagine what an adventure this will be!" Octavia exclaims. "And it will be so nice to get out of a place like Twelve. I mean…it's no Ca—District Oh, but you'll have plenty of pretty things in Two. Everyone there is far more cultured."

"Yes," I say, regaining my composure. "You're right. Thank you, Octavia."

Gale walks in and he looks like he's seen a ghost.

"Kat—Katniss?" he asks. "Is it you?"

"Oh, come on. Of course it's me. They've only changed my hair and eyes," I say. "Don't be silly."

"Yes, of course," he says, and moves in for a hug. He puts his lips close to my ear and says, "But you look just like Prim."

And I shudder. He still hugs me awkwardly so my Prep Team doesn't seem me in such a compromising way. They step out slowly, thinking it to be a tender moment between my cousin or—or my lover. I'm not sure which. But it does the trick and they leave. Gale always knows just how to read me.

"I always wonder what she would look like by now," I sniff. "She'd be…she'd be sixteen now. The age I was at the 74th—"

Gale sits me down and brings me a cool glass of water. I'm ashamed that I'm openly crying but I allow it.

After some time, he removes a large envelope from his bag.

"Here," he says, handing it over to me. "I had a friend overnight this to me. There are benefits to having a government job." He winks.

I pull the various government documents out of the envelope and find a government-issued district ID. I turn it over and there is my picture, modified so that my hair is flaxen and my eyes are a piercing blue. Underneath the District 12 seal it says in block letters, "MARGARET MAYSILEE UNDERSEE".

"Madge?" I trace the outline of the ID with my finger. I seem to have all sorts of ghosts following me today. "How—how did you? She's dead!"

"Missing," Gale states simply. "She's missing. She was never actually confirmed dead it was…it was just assumed."

There's something horribly macabre about this but if it gives me my own life back, all the better.

"What are you going to tell Peeta?" Gale asks.

Shit. I hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I was…I was just going to leave," I say.

"You can't do that, Katniss," Gale says. "Don't do that to Peeta. Come on."

"You're right," I sigh. "I just…I was hoping he'd be able to join us."

"I did, too," Gale says, running his fingers through his hair. "My friend refused to reactivate another missing person's ID card. He said it was too risky—that it would raise red flags in the system and someone would investigate. Without it, Peeta can't join us without Haymitch's consent. They'll scan his ID on the train, see that he hasn't filled out the appropriate paperwork, and have him arrested and kept in holding until Haymitch is able to pick him up."

"We could maybe try?" I venture.

"We can't risk it, Katniss. It'd tip them off about your whereabouts and identity. I'd be questioned, my friend would be questioned, and then there would be three people out of a job. Possibly imprisoned since this is incredibly illegal. It's fraudulent. I'm taking a big risk here, Katniss. I'm sorry but Peeta can't come. We could send for him later."

I bite my thumbnail thoughtfully, scripting out the words in my head. I'm worried about what Peeta will say or think. Will he think that I can't bear to live a life in the limelight being his wife and the mother of his children for all the world to see? Will he think that because of this, I've changed my mind? Made a decision about with whom I want to be? I couldn't bear for him to believe that.

In the end, I can't do it.

I can't go to him. I can't say goodbye. I can't give him a farewell kiss or say, "It's only for a little while." I can't say "I love you" and then leave. It would be painful for me but worse for him, I think. I'm accustomed to solitude but Peeta has always surrounded himself with the love of others.

And so in the end, I write a sealed note and have it delivered to his room on a silver plate by hotel staff at our train's scheduled departure time.

_Peeta,_

_I won't be coming home with you.  
I have to be someone else for a while if I ever want to be me again.  
I couldn't tell you because I didn't want to blow my cover.  
I don't want you to worry about me but know I'll worry about you every day.  
I'll send for you when I can.  
I'm sorry and I love you._

_Katniss_


	30. Chapter Thirty

_**Author's Note**: So I haven't updated in forever and for that I apologize! After the last chapter, I was absolutely stuck and had absolutely no clue what would happen next. Complete block. Oddly, Saturday night I was driving two hours to my hometown for some friends' Halloween party (dressed as, who else? Katniss Everdeen) and it just kind of popped into my head and I finally had some direction. Anyway, I hope this will do! Thanks for the patience and kindness!_

**CHAPTER 30**

I carry my bags through the train station as Gale and I approach the terminal scheduled to leave for District 2 in a few short minutes. I keep having to regain my hold on the handles of my luggage because my palms are so sweaty. Were I to remain in the new District 0, my presence would be mostly unquestioned. However, moving across the borders of the various districts has required identification. The rules for travel have become considerably relaxed compared to years before but identification is still mandatory. If one cannot present identification, the attendants can request a blood sample to identify a traveler. Especially now, businessmen and other important people have been traveling between the districts with more frequency. A finger prick at each station is just impractical, hazardous, and time consuming so, while the identification cards are easier to forge than actual DNA, they're a far better solution.

My knees are shaking as Gale and I approach the attendant. I'm sure we'll be found out! The bored-looking attendant, though, scans our IDs without event and Gale and I move through to the platform. Gale must be important as we have our own private cabin; it isn't as large as the cabins Peeta and I were assigned as tributes and later as victors. Once we get inside and close the door, Gale and I gleefully embrace in silent celebration. The journey to District 2 takes only a little under two hours and in that time, Gale and I reminisced about our adventures in District 12. You would think we spent our lives hunting for sport instead of to feed our malnourished friends and families. We spend little time catching each other up on the present. I don't know what to ask and if Gale is like the rest of the nation, he needs no catching up on my present.

We take a private cab to Gale's home. When we walk in the door, I am instantly at home. Hazelle gathers me in her arms and hugs me close.

"Katniss, Katniss, is it really you, my girl?" she cries.  
"Shh, mother!" Gale hushes her.  
"Did you tell her?" I ask him.  
"Honey girl, I'd know you anywhere," Hazelle replies, looking me over. "Although for a second, I thought you were Primrose come to life."  
I feel little arms wrap around my leg and look down to see a six-year-old Posey. She looks up at me questioningly and asks, "Katniss? Katniss Everdeen? Is it really you?"  
Gale sighs in frustration. "No, Posey, this is my friend Madge. You remember Madge?"

She doesn't make a movement, only blinks, but I know she doesn't remember Madge. She was too young to have remembered her as our late Mayor's daughter.

Hazelle has a quizzical look on her face but allows Gale to explain.  
"Mother, I need you to call her Madge from now on."  
"Madge?" she asks incredulously. "You're going to pass her off as the Undersee girl?"

Gale reaches in my pocket for the ID and presents it to Hazelle.

"Here," he says, pointing out my picture above the large printed _MARGARET MAYSILEE UNDERSEE_. "It's official."

Hazelle shakes her head in disapproval. She knows it's official and she knows who arranged for the fraudulent paperwork.

"I don't feel entirely comfortable with this, Gale. It ain't right."

Gale picks up the still petite Posey and places her on his shoulders.

"She just needs a place to stay for a while until she can make enough money, meet people, become established." He looks up at Posey. "You wouldn't mind another sister for a little while, would you, Posey?"

Posey smiles sweetly at me and shrugs her shoulders. "That sounds all right, I guess." I return her smile.

I assumed I would be sharing a room with Posey but am surprised to find that the Hawthornes now have room to spare and have a guest room for visitors. I think to myself how funny it all is as Gale and I had grown up only knowing a few families that did not have to share one bed or pallet amongst themselves. Gale's done well for himself and I'm proud of my friend. I know the happiest day of his life was the day he realized his family would never have to know hunger pangs again.

I have a few days to unpack the very few belongings I had brought with me and spend the majority of the time catching up with Hazelle and making meals together. It's the happiest and most relaxed I've felt in a long time. She confesses that she had, of course, poured over the reality show in which Peeta and I were unwitting participants. It makes my stomach turn to think that a family friend had witnessed me copulating on a screen but then again I suppose I'm not the only person to have ever done such a thing. In any case, it can't be worse than witnessing me take a human life.

It had piqued her curiosity, though, to know the inner workings of our relationship. How do we make it work? Is it uncomfortable sharing an intimate moment in front of the cameras and even worse since we hadn't actually been in love? She marveled over how our acting had been spot-on and so convincing and she understood why I would have to go incognito in order to spend quality time with Gale.

Wait.

I'm silent for a minute as I cut up some carrots for a stew we're making. I have to process what she's saying.

"You thought it was staged?" I question, not taking my eyes off the knife inches away from my fingers.  
"Of course. I know how it is being a Victor, Katniss. You have certain obligations. After the Games, you and Peeta hardly saw each other. When Gale was beaten, you were constantly at his side. You were constantly at his side during the Rebellion. I know you have to put on a show for everyone. I know the expectations and I don't think less of you for it, sweetheart," she says, placing her index finger at my jawline to lift my chin. "I'm just glad it's this way and not…well. I'm just glad you're not being purchased by the highest bidder," She adds, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

"H-how do you know about that?" I ask.

"I had a little sister once, too. Like you. I cared for her after our ma died of pneumonia. We were very close. Well, we _were_ very close til she were caught up with this boy. She loved him so much and she's always at his side. My hope for her was that she wouldn't marry a Seam boy. I wanted much better for her; she was too gentle for that kind of life. But then this boy gone to the Hunger Games. I thought she fixina die herself but she can't tear herself away from the screen. When he come back, I was so relieved. I'm thinkin' this is it for her and that finally, she can have an easy life. But she told me she find out that, as a Victor, he was called to the Capitol on a weekly basis. He had many patrons—men, women—they were often unkind and would humiliate him or put the hurt on him. If he been from one of the more affluent districts, maybe they woulda been kind. But bein' from an outlying district, well, they think we ain't much more than animals."

_Watch how little things change._

"Anyway," she continues. "The only way them two could be intimate was if he drunk whisky. He didn't let her do nothin'. He never let her leave the house. She wanted a baby real bad. Thought it'd fix things. I told her ain't no way he can be a daddy and to get her head on straight. Soon 'nough, though, she find out she pregnant. The night she fixina tell him, he come back all bloody and can't hardly walk. JoJo said she'd go for help, that your mama weren't too far from here. He told her no and got to drinkin'. When she stop listenin' and tried to leave, he got up and hit her real hard. Nearly knocked her out. She begged him for him to stop, told him he'd hurt the baby." Hazelle stops to catch her breath.

"What did he say?" I ask her, not sure if I want her to continue.

"He told her to get rid of it or he would do it for her. That he'd never see a child of his be in the reaping and get kilt as a tribute." It sounds so horrifying, hearing someone else say it…but I know I've thought it. Multiple times.

"She told me all this that night and cried in my arms," Hazelle continues. "The next morning, she was gone. She kilt herself and that baby trynta run." Hazelle begins to cry. I snuggle into her arms in an attempt to comfort her. She smells like cinnamon.

"I'm so sorry, Hazelle. So sorry."

"My Jo!" she cries, deep sobs racking her body.

Suddenly, I realize who the boy was and I feel ridiculous not realizing it sooner. How many Victors had District 12 even seen? My stomach turns, remembering Haymitch's gruesome description of the carnage. Had he remembered what he'd said? Had he remembered that not only did he lose his girlfriend but also his unborn child? He hadn't mentioned any of this but naturally, I'm inclined to believe Hazelle's story.

I want to tell her that the show hadn't been staged…that Peeta and I had grown to love each other and that we needed each other as much as we always had. I want to tell her that Haymitch had deceived us and was using us for money, whoring us out to the public. I want to tell her that I have come to District 2, not because of her son, but because I, too, am fleeing Haymitch's controlling and abusive affection. I don't tell her, though, knowing that I could never say these things; Hazelle had just poured her heart out to me about her sister Josephine's untimely death in the shadows of an alcoholic Victor's ruins.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

CHAPTER 31

Gale gets me started in a small office compiling citizen information from all over the republic. There are others out on the streets, collecting recent demographic information. I would prefer to be outside and walking around instead of inside stuck in front of a machine, I tell Gale. He tells me that he would prefer that I am in the safety of District 2 at a desk job rather than risk being recognized going from door to door.

"I spent quite a bit of time as the Mockingjay out on the streets and with the public without the dye job," I remind him.  
"Yeah, and you were shot," he shoots me down, a bit irate.

I spend most of the time in an office and rarely see Gale, who spends much of his time at meetings and conferences. An important player under Paylor in the war and a key leader in the development of well-executed strategies, Gale was specially appointed by the President to oversee the Ministry of National Defense: an important position for someone so young. However, having been Gale's hunting partner for a number of years, I know that he has a mind fine-tuned for strategy and predicting outcomes. His natural gift combined with his military schooling in District 13 has molded Gale into a precise and proficient executive of war. Again, I am happy for my friend and proud of his accomplishments, but I can't help but feel a sort of unease thinking back to our time in the war. I've long forgotten (or rather, blocked) the specifics, but I know Gale was good. And I know that he had a hand in the attack that preyed upon people's fear and emotions, killing my little sister in the process. In truth, I've grown a little frightened of him. Gale always had that anger in him but now his enmity is not easily dismantled when he firmly believes another to be unjust.

When I had planned to return with Gale to District 2 and stay with his family, I thought I would finally be home. I thought I would be back in a little District 12 within District 2, laughing around a fire with the Hawthornes and going out with Gale for our Sunday hunts, joking and getting on as we used to do. I'm disappointed to find that things have utterly changed. Even Gale wears kohl liner around his eyes and dyes his fingernails a deep crimson to stay abreast of the latest trends. Despite District 13's minimalistic culture and distaste for excess, even important members of the government have found themselves sucked into the vast consumerism and ostentation that overwhelm the wealthier districts. Hazelle remains much the same, but the children have all been affected by the family's new status. I feel perpetually out of place and often prefer to go outside on long walks. Gale has expressly told me that he would prefer that I stay within the family's property lines to avoid recognition, but on my days off when he isn't around, I like to wander the city, shielding my face with large sunglasses. This works in my favor because this part of the Republic is notoriously sunny and warm.

I finally have acquired the privacy I've craved and have never actually been given in the past four years. It's funny, though, because it's like I've climbed the top of a mountain and now that I've come to the top, I'm unimpressed. I'm looking around and seeing only snow and rocks and the climb back down. Shouldn't I feel different? Shouldn't I look forward to something? It's a lot lonelier and colder without Peeta around. Even during the times when I felt the lowest, at the very bottom of a booze bottle or at the very end of a morphling binge, talking to Peeta always made me feel _something_. I at least felt something.

Now, I've got a family and my best friend and money and a job and privacy and…and…

And I'm standing at the top of my mountain thinking, "So what?"

Whenever something happens, even the most mundane things like teaching Posey how to French braid her own hair or like trying a new type of bread, I always think to myself, "I need to tell Peeta—" before I realize I can't.

I've sent letters to him. I've attempted to send him blips on his holo. My video calls go unanswered. I haven't heard from Peeta in months and I have no other options of coming into contact with him unless I go to District 12 or go through Haymitch. One night I almost send Haymitch a blip until I recall that any communication can likely be located through the positioning software on our devices.

What if Peeta won't answer my calls because he thinks I've abandoned him? Does he think that I've left him for Gale? Does he think I'm in his arms at this very moment? I told him I'd send for him.

But after months of asking Gale on a weekly basis, I can't blame him for losing hope. My own face-to-face correspondence with Gale has become less and less frequent as the weeks pass. When I do see him, I'm sure to get in his good graces and ask after sending for Peeta. Common responses include, "Oh, right, I've been meaning to follow up on that. I've just been so busy, Katniss," or, "There's nothing available right now. There's nothing I can do," or, "I've been told there's been a question over a number of potentially fraudulent paperwork recently." He's always very apologetic and it seems genuine but I've seen nothing.

"Gale," I finally say one evening as I'm staring into the wall-mounted gas fireplace as he half-dozes on the sofa. "We need to send for Peeta soon. I'll do anything I can to help. Anything you want to delegate to me, I'm happy to do it. You keep saying you'll send but it's been so long now—"

He angrily snaps awake and moves away from the sofa and towards me. He's towering over me.

"Katniss, shit. Can't you see I've been so damn busy? I work my ass off to ensure things are running so I have a job and hell, so you have your easy job where you sit on your ass all day and press buttons and you keep nagging me about him. I've told you, I've told you a million times I'm doing what I can to get him here. Isn't that enough? I can't pull him out of my ass. I have to think of my reputation. Do you really want me jeopardizing my—_our_—positions so that Peeta can sit in this house all day leeching off of us?" He yells rapidfire and I'm taken off-guard.

"I'm sorry, it's just that it's been a while and I thought—" I start.

"I've tried to make you feel at home. We all have. And yet you're still so effing miserable. You mope around. It makes me feel like you don't care. Like you're not grateful," he says a bit softer now, looking hurt.

"No, no, I am, Gale. I am. I appreciate all you've done," I backpedal.

Gale says nothing in response except, "I'm going to bed. I'm just too tired and stressed from the day."

I'm left alone with my thoughts in the parlor. I hadn't meant to seem ungrateful or be a bad houseguest. Have I really been that miserable and is everything as terrible as I make it? Maybe I'm not seeing it all correctly. Maybe I do have a cloud over my head that just won't leave.

Maybe Peeta is just busy with the restaurant now that I've left. Maybe it isn't so serious. I'll keep trying but I don't want to ask so much that Gale won't send for him at all.

When I wake in the middle of the night from my usual nightmares, I go to check my holo as I habitually do nowadays, just to see the time or if I've received any blips. It's funny because I swear I set it next to my bed as I always do. I must have forgotten. Too tired to get up and grope around in the dark for it, I drift back into a fitful sleep in which, of course, the featured nightmare is one in which I'm being yet again ripped away from Peeta. I'm gripping onto his hand underwater. He's trying to tell me something but the water is so thick, almost gelatinous in viscosity, that the quivering molecules don't reach my ears in time before some creature drags me under the depths of the ocean. I hold onto Peeta's hand hard until I feel my shoulder separate and finally, my arms looses itself from its shoulder girdle. I'm left looking back at Peeta's face quickly being blotted away by my own red blood and the darkness of the sea.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**CHAPTER 32**

Work continues on and the hours feel endless. I don't know what any of this information is for and I'm becoming worried that once I've finished compiling all of it, I'll be made to organize millions of letters or postcards, manually sealing each one. I'm sick of these four walls and I need a reprieve. The confrontation with Gale last night has me on edge, concerned about our friendship and working relationship. I hate to think that I owe anyone anything and yet I constantly owe someone. Worse yet, I hate the idea of owing someone and having that person think I'm ungrateful for it. It makes my skin crawl. I'm beginning to regret having asked Gale for anything. However, if not having asked him, I'd be forever reminded of how much I should owe Haymitch. Haymitch, I'll owe more than I could ever repay.

I happen to catch Gale in his office on this day: unusual since he spends a lot of time outside of the office talking with businessmen and politicians, schmoozing them and taking them out to lunch. When my eyes feel like they're going to dry up into shriveled raisins from focusing too intensely, I get up from my seat and walk across the campus to Gale's office. It's unusually cool for this time of year, nearly comparable to what it would be at home. The office feels drafty and cool and I shiver a bit, clutching my light jacket more tightly around me.

Gale's desk is immaculately organized; it isn't something I'd expect from my friend as he was never a good student when we were in school. He was always brilliant—even gifted—but he had little patience for school and preferred to be out doing rather than sitting at a desk. Besides, he reasoned that as a Seam child from a poor, fatherless family, he would be sent off to the mines the very day of his eighteenth birthday. He felt he would benefit little from formal schooling. Yet he amazingly absorbed everything very easily despite putting forth little to no effort. The only reason he even showed up to school at all was to divert suspicion. If he did not show up to school each day, he knew he would be an easy target for the more duty-bound peacekeepers who would fine his family heavily for Gale's hunting. At least as long as he went to school and wasn't a troublemaker, the peacekeepers would turn a blind eye to his illegal hunting. It also didn't hurt that he would buy their confidence with free game. That was the hook: once he provided them with game and once they'd bought from him out of pity, it was something he could forever hold over their heads as blackmail. One fine and Gale could attempt to appeal saying that the peacekeepers were willing customers and reference video footage. Even then, we knew better than to think we weren't being monitored on camera. We knew it; we just knew that no one would review the footage unless something was brought into question. No peacekeeper wanted to lose his or her job. It was a secure and well-paying position but try to find any other work and no one will hire you. Who would hire a traitor to the District, a former extension of the Capitol's absolute power when we were otherwise happily forgotten with the exception of the annual reapings?

But Gale is still a very logical and systematic thinker, I guess, and so his desk is reflective of it. Thinking back on my own desk, it's a mess but I still manage.

"Hi, Madge," he greets me using my false name whenever we're outside of the Hawthorne household. "What can I do for you?"

I sit in one of the soft red suede chairs in front of his desk.

"I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. Do you want to go out for lunch today? I'll buy."

A slight smile spreads across his chapped lips.

"Sure. I'll get my coat."

We take a car to a nearby restaurant. It's my first time eating food in the district that isn't made by Hazelle or myself and I'm shocked by how much it burns my mouth. I suppose the idea is to encourage everyone to drink more water with it being so hot and arid in this part of the country. Still, it takes me by surprise and I spend most of the meal attempting to hide my runny nose.

"I just wish you could feel at home here with us," Gale says while I'm gulping a large glass of cool cucumber-infused water.

"I'm sorry I haven't been a good houseguest and that I've been a distant friend. I guess despite being amongst longtime family friends, I still feel like a fish out of water. I don't know anyone, I'm not me and I miss…I miss…" I'm searching for what it is that feels like it's missing. It's a hollow feeling that aches in my chest, a feeling of needing to look for lost keys or a lost wallet but much, much bigger and more important.

Gale sighs.

"You miss Peeta. And Haymitch even," he says gently, pouring more water from the carafe into my glass.

I do. I miss falling asleep next to Peeta and knowing that we're looking out for each other. As much of an asshole as Haymitch is, I look forward to his snarky comments—just in case I'm feeling mean and agitated that day and need to throw it right back. I miss Peeta's ability to center me again, to tell it like it is. They don't take shit from me.

I don't regret leaving, though.

I need to know that I can do it without them for a while. I don't want to make money and friends because I love Peeta and because Haymitch broadcasts it. I don't want to think Haymitch sticks around to leech money from our star-crossed lovers bit. Love and money should be mutually exclusive, shouldn't they? And shouldn't love mean trust and confidence?

But I want to go home so badly that I can't stand it at times. Without Peeta there at night, I barely sleep at all. I'm beginning to feel the depression creep back over me like an ominous fog, suffocating me and pulling me back down into a hole. I don't want to do anything. Nothing brings me any excitement anymore, not even playing with Posey. When I'm not helping Hazelle out of obligation, I'm in my room sleeping or attempting elusive sleep. I can't come up with anything else worth doing.

After a week of lunches out, Gale and I grow closer again. It doesn't lift my depression but it's a convenient distraction. He's less cold now and actually begins to show some friendly, brotherly affection for me. Still, he sees that I remain far from myself.

One day, after a few days outside of District 2, Gale returns home with a gift: a small, silver jewelry box embellished with turquoise, the District 2 stone. I thank Gale and he tells me to open it.

When I open the box, it is lined with a soft suede. I run my finger along the softness of the material and I long for my old, worn-in hunting boots. But apart from the lining, the box is empty.

"Not that," Gale says and he leans down. There's a small notch in the lining in the bottom right-hand corner. At first, I think this is a tiny imperfection in the animal hide but no, it open a shallow bottom compartment. As the box opens, I'm greeted with a multitude of small, identical pills that I immediately recognize.

My old friend.

"I got them in 6. I know you've been having to cut your old supply in half to try to make them last but now you have a new supply. It's a stronger dosage so it should last you a while, too. Oh, Katniss. I just…I know you're having a tough time. I hate to see you like this. You aren't yourself."

Gale removes a pill and places it in my hand. I dry swallow it and feel the lump stick in my throat briefly before being washed down with a second swallow of saliva.

"I just want you to feel better, Katniss. I just want my Catnip back," he says.

"Thank you," I say because I'm not really sure what else to say. I want to ask him if it was safe yet to try to send for Peeta but it just doesn't seem appropriate after Gale's return and the generous gift he's brought along with him (I know it must have cost a great deal of his pay). So, I huddle back under my blanket, closing my eyes, and wait once again for the deep morphling sleep to consume me.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

[A/N]: Thanks for all the views, reviews, follows, favorites, et cetera, everyone! It means a lot and I read every review and take your suggestions and perceptions into consideration. Once again, thank you for your time! I'll try to be more diligent about updates. Happy Veterans' Day and, regardless of your feelings about war, let's not forget the incredible adjustments these individuals must endure coming home from combat. Trauma is trauma.

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**CHAPTER 33**

It isn't long before I require a small dose of morphling to even get myself to work. Work remains miserable, as usual. I'm bored out of my mind and my muscles are becoming short and stiff from sitting so often. Fortunately, though, Gale and I have plans once again for lunch. It's a beautiful, sunny day and I look forward to instead walking to our lunch destination. Gale calls me to let me know that he will be a few minutes late and is just finishing up a conference call. I don't feel like sitting any longer so I log out of my station, leave building G, and make the brief walk across campus to Gale's building. He is closer down the street to the café so we might as well just meet up there.

When I enter the office, the computerized PA system alerts me to let me know that it will be a moment as Mr. Hawthorne is busy.

"Please have a seat," the soothing, feminine voice prompts me.

I sit down in the angular bamboo chair: stylistic, yes. Comfortable, no. The green glass table in front of me holds a multitude of magazine codes. Unlike District 12, the District 0 and District 13 technologies have found their way into Districts 1-4, where nearly everyone owns and communicates through a personal holo. They're slightly different from the limited use of the military holos during the Rebellion, but in a short time they have evolved into a daily personal convenience. I scan the tabletop code for a complimentary subscription to the latest issue of a magazine that reports the latest news in the Districts. The homesickness I've been experiencing hasn't diminished and I want desperately to hear some news of Peeta or even Haymitch.

The screen of my holo comes to life and projects itself into the air where I scroll through the pages with minute eye movements. Suddenly, I'm struck by a familiar face.

_Peeta._

I study his face: expressionless.

_District 12's Victor-turned-playboy, __**Peeta Mellark**__, 21, continues his promiscuous binge as of late. Lately, he's been seen in public with multitudes of lovely girls from various districts. Recently, though, he's been finding solace in the arms of the infamous __**Johanna Mason**__, 25. The two reportedly spent time together as prisoners of war where they had adjacent cells. This latest relationship comes on the heels of a string of unnamed lovers from various districts. No word on how the relationship between he and fellow Victor __**Katniss Everdeen**__ ended but we suspect it must have been a nasty split for the two and we are reminded of their former engagement and failed pregnancy. No word from Katniss but an unnamed friend reports that she's been laying low while she's mending her wounded heart and respectfully requests privacy at this time._

Beneath the brief article is a picture of all the girls in whose beds Peeta has reportedly found himself. _Seventeen._ There are seventeen of them. It can't be true. And Johanna? She wouldn't do that.

But on the following page is a full-page, color, high-resolution picture of Peeta and Johanna lounging together in the Victors' Village in a half-naked embrace. There is no mistaking it. I stare at the picture silently, waiting for it to dissolve or burst into flame. I keep praying that I'm hallucinating.

"Ready to go?"

I look up and see Gale and quickly shut off my holo.

_It can't be true._

Gale looks concerned. "Katniss? Are you ok? Your face is so pale."

I reach into the small breast pocket of my blouse and pull out a pill. I gingerly roll it around between my thumb and forefinger.

"I'm fine," I lie through my teeth and feel a headache coming on. I dry swallow the little pill before forcing a smile and saying, "I just needed another pick-me-up. Let's go."

I feel like I should faint or throw myself to the ground or cry or scream. Instead, I feel an ominous kind of calm. Gale and I walk to the restaurant without incident and we chatter about the normal stuff: what Hazelle had planned for dinner tonight, Rory's diminished skills with a bow and arrow, arrangements for his next business trip, et cetera.

Nothing seemed quite real as we spoke. Even when we sat down and began to enjoy our usual lunch specials, I found that mine was tasteless and it barely burned as much as usual. The ice-cold water didn't make my sensitive teeth ache. I turn my attention toward the mosquito bite on my right ankle. It doesn't itch.

I must have been staring off into space because Gale had to bring me back to the present by lightly tapping his index finger on my forehead.

"Katniss? Are you in there? Hello?"

"Sorry," I apologize half-heartedly.

"What's on your mind?" he asks. "Everything ok? Did something happen?"

"Ohh…" I stall, trying to think of how to explain while I push my food around on my plate. "I just read something in a magazine about Peeta is all."

Gale studies me as he chews his most recent bite of chicken. "Mmm hmm?" he queries.

I activate my holo and bring up the archived pages of the magazine. I then wordlessly push it over to his side of the table.

He's perplexed at first but reads the article. I look away, feigning disinterest. Nothing in the word is more interesting to me in this moment than how my food is arranged on my plate. We sit in silence for far longer than it should take Gale to read the article. He's processing, not sure how to proceed.

"Wow. I just…I don't even know what to say. Are you ok?" he asks.

I nod an affirmative. "I'm just fine."

"I can't believe he'd do that. He loves you…"

"I've tried to contact him but nothing. I mean, I know how it must look. He thinks I'm here, that I chose you maybe. But, you know. Good for him. What can I do? It is what it is."

"But Johanna…I can't believe…" he trails off.

"I can," I say. "I know Johanna and I believe it. Absolutely."

_Get it in and get yours. _Well, I can't say she didn't give me fair warning. I almost want to believe it's a clever PR stunt orchestrated by Haymitch. It still could be, I guess, but thinking back on my conversation with Johanna a few months ago truly makes me think otherwise.

"I'm really sorry, Katniss. I should have gotten him here sooner! I just thought he could wait, you know? I thought he'd understand," he says, pounding the table in anger.

"It's not your fault, Gale. You did what you had to do and you've done a lot for me already," I say robotically.

He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, you've always got a place here in District 2 with the Hawthornes. Seam blood is thick, right?"

I weakly smile at him and nod.

Gale suggests that I take the rest of the day as a sick day and I agree.

The walk to which I had so looked forward makes me feel nothing now. I'm only vaguely aware of the sun on my skin and the light breeze through my hair. A pebble weasles its way into my shoe but I don't care. I continue on my walk. I just want to be home with my pills and my bed. I pray that I can find a way to sneak past Hazelle to my bedroom. I'm in luck: Hazelle is nowhere to be found and I vaguely remember her mentioning visiting a friend down the street today.

I sit down on the bed and I'm too wound up to sleep. I've recently taken a dose of morphling so I reach for the half-empty bottle of whiskey beneath my bed. I mean, shit, I'm not trying to kill myself. It occurs to me that while I'm not suicidal, I'm not quite right either. I don't feel. It isn't the good unfeeling that I'm able to achieve through the morphling. No, it's an unsettling feeling of non-emotion that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

Shouldn't I feel something? _Shouldn't I feel something?_

Panicked, I begin to question my existence. Am I dead? Am I real?

I need to feel something…_anything_.

I feel like I'm being suffocated and like my heart is going to fail but I douse my right thigh with the whiskey and reach for a nearby matchbook. I don't hesitate when I strike the head of the match against the red phosphorus paper and casually drop the match on my saturated leg.

My skin bursts into flames and I am again the girl on fire.

I sigh in relief as I'm brought back to life. There it is. Finally, to feel some pain…and I am alive again.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**A/N:** I honestly had no idea what to expect when it comes to burning alcohol, only that alcohol is flammable. So I did some research and lit a shot glass of isopropyl alcohol on fire (turns out Malibu doesn't have a high enough proof?). Turns out, it doesn't seem to just burns up the alcohol and I think that, especially if there is a source other than alcohol (e.g. epidermis), the flame would keep on burning provided it has enough oxygen to feed it. I'm not sure, though. I've never actually lit myself on fire. Any pyros (or, um, bartenders or chemists) that would like to share their wealth of knowledge on this subject? ;)

Thanks once again for the 4 reviews- I think that's the most I've gotten for a single chapter so yay! Very exciting for a yucky and (sigh) snowy Monday. You are lovely!

* * *

**CHAPTER 34**

I don't know if the smell of burning flesh alerted her, but not long after I light the ethanol, Hazelle bursts into the room. She looks at my leg and her eyes grow wide.

"Katniss!" she cries. She looks around the room and her eyes settle on the dense wool Saltillo blanket at the end of my bed. She smothers the flames with the heavy wool blanket and I am surprised to find that I once again feel nothing…not even pain.

Hazelle puts her hands on either side of my face.

"Katniss, Katniss, honey! What did you think you was doin'?" she asks. I say nothing because I can think of nothing to say. She shakes me.

"You tryin' to hurt yourself? Hm?" My blank eyes shift to her face. I…I don't know. I just had to do it. I felt like I had to do it or I'd disappear into nothing. Have I lost it?

Hazelle wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. She holds me and rocks me like a little child. I don't cry. I just sit there.

"We gotta get you to a hospital, baby," she says, stroking my hair. My muscles instantly stiffen and I struggle to break free of her grasp.

"No!" I scream. "No, no, no, no, no! No hospital. No hospital! Please!"

"Shh, honey, honey…" she tries to calm me.

"Please, Hazelle. Please!" I plead with her.

I can't go to the hospital. I'll be found out. I'll be admitted. Haymitch will come get me and I will have to go back to a non-home where the one person on whom I could count is in the arms of every girl within a 100-mile radius, giving all of himself to them in the way that he did to me. He gave everything to me. Everything. Now I have nothing of him. I have nothing left to give him. I will have to be this person forever. I will have to be Madge Undersee forever and hide in District Two, waiting for peacekeepers to find me and bring me back to Haymitch in handcuffs where I will probably become some social experiment. What am I talking about? I don't know where to turn. I just feel like a wild animal that's been backed into a corner and there's no way out.

"Honey, shh," she tries to soothe me with the same words over and over again. "I'll call Gale, honey…he'll know—"

"No! No!" I begin to cry, openly and hysterically. "You can't tell Gale. Please, Hazelle!" I grasp at her blouse, nearly tearing the material. "He's—you're—all I've got now. I can't have him know…"

Hazelle clearly doesn't know what to say and she's frightened. She knows I need medical attention in more ways than one but she also knows that Madge Undersee has no insurance because she's already dead. The hospital wouldn't take me.

Instead, Hazelle just shakes her head. "Child, what happened today?"

"I don't know," I whisper. I shake my head, my face burrowing into my palms. "I don't know…"

We sit in silence for some minutes, Hazelle cradling me in the bed. I would have never pictured this situation but the mothering is oddly comforting and I wonder what it would feel like to have my mother's physical affection in this way. Hazelle pets my hair and smoothes out the tangles. She avoids removing the blanket, probably fearful that the fibers have already fused to my wounds.

"We don't gotta tell Gale, pretty girl," she whispers. "But you can't do this again. You gotta get to a hospital."

"I can't go to a hospital, Hazelle. You know why."

She nods in understanding.

"I'm gon' let you rest. Try to calm down and sleep some."

I don't sleep. Instead, various scenarios play out in my head. My thoughts are racing and I just can't slow them down enough to rationalize each one. I'm sweaty yet chilled. I must fall asleep eventually because the next time I wake, the sun is once again an early-morning sun, beckoning me to rise for the day. I see a bottle of sleep syrup on the night stand next to my bed. Hazelle must have given it to me while I was dazed, staring straight ahead, eyes glazed over. I can only hope that she told Gale that I was ill and that he left it at that and extended my sick day.

I hear a knock at the door and soon, Hazelle peaks her head in.

"Mornin'," she greets me with a glass of water. "How's the leg? It hurt?" I shake my head no.

"I told Gale you was sick with a fever and he didn't ask no questions," she offers, patting my hand.

"It's okay," I responded. "Gale already knows."

Hazelle brushes a stray strand of hair from my eyes. "Honey, listen—" she begins and I hear someone in the doorway. My attention turns to the entrance to my bedroom.

"Who's there?" I ask apprehensively and feel my heart begin to beat faster. I can't breathe. They're here to take me back.

A woman steps forward. I know her immediately…she's familiar and yet so very different somehow. She looks down on me in the bed and all the color drains from her face, as if she's seen a ghost.

"You…you…" she starts slowly toward my bedside as if she's approaching a wounded wild animal. "Is it really you, baby?"

She sits down at my side and as she studies my face more closely, the hint of smile that had danced across her delicate features fades. She squints a little.

"Kat—Katniss?"

"Yes, Mother. It's me. Not Prim."

She doesn't hug me but awkwardly pats my arm. She doesn't know what to do with me.

"But for all intensive purposes, I'm Madge. You can just call me Madge, if it's easier." I'm still protecting her from any sort of emotional turmoil. It's like a compulsion.

"Hazelle sent me a blip in District 0, telling me it was an emergency…that she needed a house-call as soon as I could get out on a train for District 2. I didn't…I didn't know…" my mother begins. It's obvious that Hazelle had purposely left out the important information regarding who the patient might be.

"Well, what is the trouble?" my mother asks, now using her professional voice.

I simply unpeel the blanket from my leg. It takes some doing and it's uncomfortable but not painful. The smell is terrible. Hazelle gasps, horror-stricken. My mother requests that Hazelle wait in the next room and tells her that she will call for her should she need anything.

My mother shakes her head disapprovingly. "These are third-degree burns," she comments.

She sets about debriding the wound with a steady pulse of sterilized saline water which she quickly suctions out. Afterwards, she smears a chemical ointment over the entire wound and covers it with layers of gauze.

As she carefully cleans my wound, she cautiously broaches the topic I knew would be inevitable.

"I talk to Haymitch, you know. I like to know how you are doing."

I say nothing. She is, after all, the one who relinquished custody of me to Haymitch.

"I know about you disappearing and leaving Peeta behind, Katniss. I know about Peeta and Johanna. He isn't taking it well."

_So it is true._ I want so badly to cry the memory of the picture away but I can't.

"Isn't taking it well?" I reply sardonically.

"Why did you leave?" she asks gently. I can't believe this woman is asking me all of this.

"I'm pissed," I say quietly.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asks.

"I'm pissed!" I scream in her face. "I'm angry that you would just _sell_ me to Haymitch, mother! Just sell me like I'm nothing! After all these years of caring for you and Prim…you can't even see to it that I'm cared for. You can't even care for me, your last remaining child! You just cast me aside as if your life in the Seam never existed."

Her face betrays no emotion and it irks me.

"We aren't so different, you and I, Katniss," she says evenly.

"We're completely different," I bite back.

"After your father died, I nearly lost my mind. Peeta's not gone, Katniss. He's not completely gone. You've just had a misstep."

I roll my eyes. "It isn't that simple."

"But it is!" she says. "You're just making it complicated. Look, I knew I could do nothing for you if you stayed with me. Someone had to care for you, Katniss. You obviously can't care for yourself," she says, motioning toward the wound.

"How am I supposed to care for you, hm? How? I could barely keep you alive as it was. But Haymitch…Haymitch kept _both _you and Peeta alive in even more dire circumstances. Regardless of his methods, he never hurt you. He saw to it that you were looked after and care—"

"He sold us, Mother! He put us on display! He manipulated us and exploited our feelings!" She begins to attempt to protest but I cut her off. "No! Did you know that he allowed our most private moments to be filmed. Did you see that episode where Peeta and I had sex? We had sex for the first time on national programming, Mother. Did you know that?"

She looks away, ashamed, and admits, "No. No, I didn't watch that one."

"Ha. So you can sit here and preach at me about how effing _thankful_ I should be to you for leaving me in the care of a money-hungry alcoholic and you can't even find it in yourself to care enough to take a half hour or hour or whatever the hell it was out of your day to even watch the illegal show about me to see how I was _doing_?" The words are just flowing from me. She has nothing to say. She just has that stupid blank stone face.

"Thank you for the medical care. But tell anyone that I'm here and I'll make certain that the cameras find me for an interview and I'll let everyone know how you stayed in bed for days on end, high on morphling, while your eight-year old daughter cried at the foot of your bed, begging you for something to eat."

My mother doesn't look me in the eye but instead packs up her instruments soundlessly and leaves the room.

I suck down another few drops of sleeping syrup and sink back into oblivion.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

A/N: Happy New Year from Ft. Lauderdale, FL where Brett and I are here to see our NIU Huskies play in the BCS Orange Bowl! Go Huskies! Also, we are engaged as of a month ago so it's been a crazy exciting month. My friend Kevin sent me a text on Christmas demanding another chapter of fanfic written as lyrics to Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" so I obviously obliged. I wrote this on the way down to FL and expect another chapter or two here pretty soon!

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**CHAPTER 35**

I sleep most of the time, mostly to dampen the anger I feel. My agitation is at its peak and I realize that being with Peeta and Haymitch had actually had a calming effect. I had, in fact, trusted the both of them until the deceit with that program. Now I'm not sure who I can trust and who I cannot if even my mother and former mentor would sell me out. Hazelle, yes. Hazelle is every bit of District 12 that was good: the neighborly love, the selflessness, the warmth, the food. I trust Gale as my truest childhood friend. He is still Gale to the core even if he dresses a bit differently. Even that gives me pause. Gale with snares and a clever mind was a force to be reckoned with as Gale follows Gale's agenda; Gale with a bit of power… well. Any testosterone-fueled young man with quickly-earned power and success can be as destructive as he will let himself be. The difference between Peeta and Gale is that Peeta never actively sought conflict and went relatively unnoticed in life as the third Mellark boy until the Reaping. Gale sought conflict wherever he went as it would suit him. One day he was hot and the next day he was cold. Unpredictable, like prey, which is partly why I admired him so. That, and because he was good at anticipating his own unpredictable prey's moves and ensnaring it efficiently. I was always a good shot but I would have never become as skilled of a hunter and later, assassin, if I hadn't had a glimpse into the way Gale's mind works.

So, in short, at this point I can't be certain if I'm developing a host of paranoid delusions or if it really is true that anyone in Panem would use me as they see fit in order to further advance themselves. I've talked with Finnick, Johanna, and Haymitch enough to know. They've largely spared me the details but after the Games, there is no limit to my imagination of how terrible any one person can be.

But things calm down and remain consistent for the following six months. Gale and I go to work, the kids go to school, I take some morphling and go for walks while Gale works and goes on trips. My walks concern Hazelle, ever the watchful mother hen. She doesn't like that I go and worries that I will be harmed or recognized or robbed or worse; I command everyone not to follow me. I think Hazelle understands that I need some time for reflection and memory and mourning; however, she has told me on more than one occasion that she feels that I may spend a little too much time reflecting and that perhaps I should do something to keep my mind off things. I myself have suggested to Gale that perhaps I could get involved in some charity work such as delivering meals to the elderly or helping feed the poor. He dismisses the idea as unsafe, concerned that I would be recognized and sent back to Haymitch or worse, jailed for falsifying information. He doesn't say so, but I know he is concerned for himself and his job security as it would be pretty obvious who had falsified that information for me. I think we're all on edge about the whole situation as it never truly leaves our minds that we could be found out at any moment. Still, I'm so bored and lonely here that I often open the top drawer of my dresser and stare at my identification pass thinking about where I'd go, what I'd do, who I'd be. I think about becoming Madge entirely and living out therest of my life that way. But next to my ID, I have the pouch with the pearl in it that Peeta gave me. I don't take it out of its pouch but I can sit there and spend an hour or more rolling it around between my thumb and forefinger all over the inside of the pouch, thinking about Peeta. I wonder what he's doing and if he's happy. Does he think I left him for Gale? I mean, does he really think that I would just stop caring for him because of Haymitch? Will I ever see either of them again? Will Peeta have moved on? Does he really care for Johanna now?

A million questions and worries run through my mind and I now regret having ever left. I thought things would be simpler. I think about taking my ID and leaving, testing to see if I'd be caught. It went well the first time but no one had been alerted of my disappearance. I'm still not sure if Haymitch has reported me as missing yet. And so what if I were caught? Would I be sent to prison for leaving District 12 where I was to remain under Haymitch's care for years until my case was under review?

I didn't have to wonder long, though. Some weeks had passed since I had last pondered just up and leaving the Hawthornes. This time I felt pretty brave and willing to risk it; I had even begun packing. I opened the top drawer of the heavy oak dresser and find only my underthings and the pouch with the pearl. Hazelle must have taken it out and put it with the family's IDs for safekeeping like she had once recommended. It was probably a good thing, too, since I'd have to go through her instead of making any impulsive decisions.

Soon, though, my boredom is relieved when Gale assigns me the task of organizing a luncheon to welcome the CEOs of a medical research company newly subsidized by the government. Gale is hoping to establish a branch in District 12 as well as a way of rebuilding his home district's main economy. Gale has sketched out the main components and vendors to use; it's my job to compare prices and to negotiate the details and prices of the engagement. I'm thankful that my role in planning the small details of the luncheon has already been taken care of as I have never planned any social engagement in my life.

The morning of the luncheon, Gale sets out a lovely red cocktail dress and heels for me to wear. I'm thankful that this time in heels won't be caught on national television. I squeeze myself into the dress and wear my simple canvas shoes with the heels clutched in my right hand to change into later. Hazelle looks me over approvingly and gives me a hug and kiss.

"You look lovely," she says. She pauses and then holds up her index finger, signaling me to wait a moment. She emerges from her bathroom with some jeweled bobby pins. She lets my hair out of my braid and runs her fingers through the long waves, pinning a sectin of hair out of my face with the bobby pins.

"These were my sister's," she says, weaving the pins into my hair. "Given to her by Haymitch long ago." And there it is, my suspicions confirmed. On my way out the door, she tosses me a tube of red lipstick.

On the cab ride over, I scroll through my holo to make sure I have confirmation from each vendor, anxious that I may have forgotten something. I check in my saved drafted messages to ensure that I hadn't forgotten to send something. I'm not in the habit of saving drafts and not sending them except as it pertains to Peeta. I know I have written a dozen messages to him at least since learning about him and Johanna. I just could never get the wording right. I mean..what do I say? What can I say? The damage is done and nothing I write to him will undo that. He's made up his mind. Still, though, I've held on to the messages just in case I have an epiphany and work up the courage to once again message him.

When I click on the drafted messages icon, however, it's empty.

Empty?

I know I didn't touch those messages. Well, did I? Is it possible that I was too high at one point to remember? Is it possible that Hazelle or Gale erased them? Or maybe Posey was playing with my holo and did it by accident.

But no. It isn't possible because holos are always either voice-activated or require the user's fingerprint. Since I know from experience how previously recorded voices can be altered and manipulated for just about anything, I decided to use my fingerprint.

I'm probably just being paranoid. I'm sure I did it by accident.

I scan my cab card to log the distance of my travel and get out of the vehicle in front of the gray cement building where I know Gale will be waiting for me to assist in the preparations.

"You're late," he says, looking at his holo as I walk through the door. "It's fifteen minutes after eight."

"Sorry," I apologize, fumbling with my own holo. "I just had some trouble getting into the dress and then your mother stopped me on my way out the door and—" I glance at the time on my holo. "Wait, my holo says it's only five minutes after."

"Let me see it," Gale says impatiently, reaching his hand out for the device. I hand it over. "You're right," he remarks. "I'll just fix it." He attempts to swipe his finger over the screen.

"Um, you can't." I remind him.

"Oh," he chuckles, embarrassed. "That's right. Of course not." He hands the holo back to me.

I access the settings in my holo and find that it requires a passcode to change any administrative settings. That's odd. I pause, staring at the face of the holo with a puzzled look.

"Just nevermind about the time. We usually arrive to work together anyway," he says impatiently. "Come on, let's get started and just get done what we need to accomplish for the morning."

"Okay," I respond and eye Gale suspiciously.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say. "I'm just nervous is all. I hope it goes all right."

"It will be great," he says, and pauses to look at my lips over which I've hastily applied lipstick. He uses his thumb to wipe away some smudged lipcolor and smiles.

"You have nothing to worry about," he reassures me. "It will go smoothly and you look…you look so beautiful. But here." He reaches into his pocket and places a small pill in my hand. More morphling.

"Oh, I already took some this morning," I say in refusal.

"So take another," he closes my fingers around the pill. "To ease the nerves."

"Thanks," I say but I pocket the pill as he walks into the conference room. I think that's enough morphling.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

CHAPTER 36

Colleagues begin filing in shortly before noon after the caterers had set up the fine meal. It's a far cry from anything that Peeta and I had ever experienced on any of our tours but it is much finer than any luncheon even the mayor could have arranged in District 12. I sneak a taste of a sweet yet spicy squash soup and it brings back memories of Peeta and my prep team taking spoonfuls of a large table of a variety of soups. I wish Peeta were here to try this one, too. I wish Peeta were there for everything, more than ever. He was always my partner in experiencing new things. And now I'm on my own.

"Ka—Madge!" I hear as I feel a light slap on my hand after taking a mouthful of the sample of soup.

"What?" I feign innocence as I turn to see Gale. "I have to ensure the food is…up to our standards?"

He narrows his eyes at me.

"Well," I continue. "Wouldn't you prefer that my mouth is busy so I don't stick my foot in it?"

I see some crinkles of amusement form around the corners of his eyes and he sighs.

"I always wish your mouth could be busy, little _cousin_," he says and pats my coloring cheek. "Just look pretty and be quiet and you'll be fine. Here," he says and hands me a cocktail. "Let's show everyone a nice time. Charm them. There's time for business after we've made friends first."

"Of course, of course," I respond, playing into this new business Gale. "You know I'm excellent at being quiet and making friends."

About twenty or so guests enter and are seated. Gale stands before them.

"Good afternoon. I'm Gale Hawthorne and I'm very pleased and excited to have each of you here as our welcome guests. I wanted this opportunity to create a friendly environment in which we may all come to know each other as we will be close colleagues working for a common cause. There's no presentation or anything—no catch to this free meal." Everyone laughs and Gale beams a boyish grin as his joke went better than he had hoped. As he continues in his brief address, I see a Gale I haven't seen since the Gale I talked to at the hotel bar: charming, laidback, genial and convincing. I see how he could've earned so much success in such a short time: not only did he grow close with Paylor and earn her influence, but he's got a clever mind and more importantly, he's got charisma and good looks.

I finish my first cocktail which seemed more like juice, really, and start on a second of mottled melons, basil, and vodka. This one is much stronger.

"Is this baked brie?" the gentleman next to me in line asks. I look up, expecting an aging businessman but instead see someone in his early thirties or so with light brown skin and startling bright jade green eyes. They're so bright that I question whether or not his eyes have been cosmetically altered like mine. I avert direct eye contact.

"Oh, hm. Let me think. Yes, yes. Brie," I respond quietly.

"Did you have some? Is it good?" he asks, picking up a plate.

"Oh, no. I haven't tried much yet. I just helped organize the menu for the luncheon."

"Ah, very nice," he says. "Well done. Well here, enjoy your hard work."

I wave away the imaginary plate full of food. "Oh, no, I'm okay for now. Maybe later."

"Ah. Liquid lunch?" he asks with a chuckle, motioning to the quickly emptying cocktail.

"That had been my initial thought but now I'm thinking it might be better form to tell you that I want to ensure there is enough food for our lovely guests," I respond honestly and innocently enough.

He laughs uproariously and puts his hand out between us. I grasp it for a shake.

"Firm handshake. They call me Dobbs," he says, returning the handshake.

"I'm Madge. I work as Gale's administrative assistant here. Gale's actually my cousin."

"Oh!" he says, surprised. "Gale's a good guy but you look nothing like him. So you're related to Katniss Everdeen? I can see some resemblance."

"Oh, no, no," I backpedal. "When I say cousin I mean we're close family friends. Our mothers were good friends but we aren't related. The term is used loosely in District 12, where we're from. I think maybe I went to school with Katniss. I don't know."

"It's so sad what happened. Did you hear she's back in the hospital again?" he asks.

"Um, no?" I say and signal to a server to hand me another drink.

"Yeah. I guess she had a nervous breakdown because she found out Peeta was sleeping around again with all these girls. She and Johanna Mason really got into it, I hear. That is a fight I would have loved to see."

He pauses in conversation, waiting for my turn to contribute. I realize it looks like I'm not paying attention.

"Oh! Oh yeah. Crazy," I offer, taking a large gulp from my drink.

"But Johanna certainly is, uh, _talented_—" he winks and I aspirate a bit of the booze and begin to cough. Dobbs takes the opportunity to move a bit closer and pat me on the back.

"I'm all right," I say, eager to change the subject. "So, what do you do?"

"Oh, of course. I'm a biomedical researcher. I specialize in virology," he says.

"Oh," I respond, feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden. "Wow. That's…that's amazing."

"Well, don't be too amazed. I'm still wet behind the ears so-to-speak. I only graduated this past July."

I'm beginning to feel a bit more talkative as the alcohol begins to take its effect.

"Still. To have even gotten through all that school and now to have a government job. You must be very good and incredibly smart," I say, laying on the charm and resting my right hand on Dobbs's upper left arm. How does Gale do it? It can't be that hard_. See, Gale, I can make friends, too and chat up some clients so suck it!_ the alcohol says.

"Well, you, my dear, are good at what you do," he adds, acknowledging a lovely display of neon-colored petit-fours, "And you're incredibly beautiful to boot." He leans in a bit closer than is appropriate for work colleagues. I look into his face and his eyes are just too lovely that I can't hold his stare for more than a second. When I look over his shoulder, I see Gale across the room speaking with a group while simultaneously staring daggers into the two of us. He has a sour look on his face like he'd just lost a lot of money in a bet. All his flirting earlier in the day, the holo, the ID. Is Gale…is he trying to keep me here? Just me? Is it crazy to think he'd purposely prevent Peeta from coming so that he could have me to himself after Peeta had moved on? I'm a bit drunk. But still…

I turn my attention back to Dobbs and giggle stupidly. "You're too kind. But I'd rather be smart than pretty. Tell me about some of your work. What is it that you will be doing for us?"

Dobbs grins proudly, happy to talk about his research interests.

"Well, I can't go into too much detail…" he says.

"Oh, I know you can't. I mean, Gale's already told me some of the bare bones information," I lie, "But Gale is no bio-whatever and neither am I." I add a tipsy giggle for good measure. "How does it all work?"

"Without giving too much away," he begins as I hand him a whiskey and cola, "We're trying to isolate a specific virus that's been dormant in a population. It's a retrovirus that bonds with human DNA."

"Oh, um, ok," It's hard to ask the right questions without giving it away that you have a basic understanding of biology. "Is it like, in the blood or something?" He laughs.

"No, but it's much easier to obtain the sample. It's in human sex cells."

"You mean…?" I ask, making a horrified face. Dobbs chuckles.

"Yes."

"Well, but how do you know who has the virus or not?" I ask.

"We aren't in charge of that so I don't know. Another facility is in charge of obtaining the samples. We're just in charge of extracting the retrovirus in question. It's a little more difficult to extract it and keep it living yet dormant until we need it."

"What do they need it for?" I probe. Dobbs's voice grows quiet.

"I don't know and even if I did, I shouldn't say. Don't you know?" He asks in surprise. I shake my head no. "Maybe biological warfare? Who knows. I'm sure Gale, being in charge of the project, knows at least a little more detail than I do."

I glance at Gale, who has broken away from his group and is headed across the room toward us. He looks annoyed.

"But if you are successful in all of this, what would you do to make it active in someone?" I ask quickly and quietly. I don't want Gale to know I'm asking any sort of questions.

"We'd likely have to suppress the host's immune system."

Gale hooks his arm around my shoulders and gives me a half-hug.

"Welcome, Dr. Dobson. Thank you for coming. Hasn't our Madge here done a lovely job organizing it?"

Dobbs looks between Gale and myself, trying to gauge the nature of our relationship, I suppose. I look at Gale and do the same. Dobbs nods his head.

"Yes, lovely," Dobbs agrees, lifting his glass toward me.

"Very lovely, Madge," Gale says, pushing my hair back. "Nice work." He hovers possessively and I don't like it. "Now if you'll excuse us, Doctor. I'd like to discuss some of the details of breakdown with Madge. You know, boring stuff."

"Of course," Dobbs says sheepishly. "It was nice talking with you Madge."

"Nice talking to you as well, sir. Thank you for keeping me company," I return.

When Dobbs is out of earshot, Gale addresses me sternly. "I said we should make friends, Madge. Not get drunk and flirt shamelessly with our guests."

Flirt! I grow annoyed. Even if I were flirting, who is Gale to tell me what is appropriate? But then again, he is my boss so I guess…that's who he is.

"I—I wasn't…_flirting_! And you didn't say I shouldn't have a few cocktails."

"I just thought you were capable of exercising better judgment than this." Gale shakes his head in a perturbed fashion. "You've spent too much time with Haymitch, clearly. He's been a bad influence on you." And for some reason, this angers me.

"Leave Haymitch out of it. You yourself are beginning to sound a bit like Effie Trinket yourself! Remember when you would mock her? Look how much you've changed now! Lipstick, eyeliner?"

Gale's eyes darken and narrow. "It's called being an adult and supporting yourself and your family. Adapting, no matter the environment. Wolf in sheep's clothing? I thought you'd know something about that stuff but I guess you've forgotten a few things, too."

We stare at each other in angry silence.

"Look, this isn't the place for this conversation, Madge. We'll talk more about it at home."


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

[A/N]: Well, you perverts said you'd like this a little more lemony so here you go. Let the flaming commence!

* * *

CHAPTER 37

I still flirt a little during the remainder of the party just to anger Gale but we finish out the afternoon by cleaning up in silence and taking separate cabs home. He gets there a bit sooner than I do and he's already in a chair, pouring himself some kind of liquor from a glass decanter. He looks worn and tired when he looks up to see me in the doorway barefoot with heels in hand and the lipstick long since faded.

"Don't even start, Katniss," Gale groans before taking a second sip of drink.

"Oh, so it's fine for you to comment on my alcohol consumption but I need to keep my mouth shut?" I say, really just looking for ways to push his buttons. I unzip the side of my dress a little so I can breathe more easily.

"I wish you'd keep your mouth shut a little more often today. You embarrass me."

What!

"I embarrass you? How, Gale? How do I embarrass you? Because I tried to do just as you tell me and try to make friends? Or is it that you're mad that I was talking to a smart, good-looking young guy that is supposed to be your inferior?" He starts to protest. "No—" I cut him off. "Not mad. _Jealous_."

I turn toward my room and leave Gale sitting in the chair with no argument whatsoever. What could he possibly say? I'm irritable in general and so tired of this dress. My hands can't undo the zipper fast enough so I can be out of its constricting fabric.

Gale walks in, drink in hand.

"Hey!" I yell at him, reaching to hold the zipper closed for some modesty. "Get out of here! Did you forget how to knock?" He takes my hand on my zipper and stays it with his.

"Who do you think got you your job, got you this dress, gave you a place to stay, gives you your fucking pills? I try so hard Katniss and you're all over some other guy? "

"Are you joking?" I can hardly believe my ears. "I thought you were my friend, Gale. I thought you were doing all of this because we're friends and we help each other to stay alive. What about that whole lot of bullshit about Seam blood being thick? Now you're treating me like…like some kind of whore that can be bought."

He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment with a blank expression, calmly takes a sip of his drink, then sets it down on the dresser. He begins to pry my hands off the zipper of my dress.

"I'm taking back the dress. It's a rental." I think he's expecting a fight so I intend to disappoint him by just letting him do it. Everyone's seen me naked anyway. He sees that I don't care and so he stops, obviously not satisfied. He takes his hands off me and abandons the project, choosing instead to lean against the dresser and continue to nurse his drink. He stares at me and looks at me up and down.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says and reaches out to pull me closer against him, inching up the hem of my already short dress so that it barely offers any coverage at all. His face is inches from mine. "I'm just trying to figure what you're about." His hand slides up under my dress a bit but stays itself. I remain calm and flash a sly smile.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do with you," I respond truthfully.

His fingers trace the outline of my thin panties and he keeps staring at me, waiting for me to react. I don't give him the pleasure.

"I think you know by now, Katniss. You're not stupid." He hovers, never completely touching me.

"You give me too much credit since I _must_ be stupid to have ever trusted to come here with you. You want something from me. Just like everyone else." Stunned, he removes his hands from me, mouth agape for a moment before composing himself.

"True," he says evenly. "But…what do you want from me? Everything I've given you obviously isn't doing it since you're so fucking miserable."

"I want in on whatever operation you're running here," I say, grounding my feet where I stand.

"Forget it," he says. "No way."

"I'm not going to stand by helpless and let you walk all over me. Something's going on and I want to know about it. I don't like when the wool is pulled over my eyes. "

He blinks at me and I see his jaw clench. His resistence only encourages me because I'm now convinced that whatever he knows and whatever he's doing is good. And I'm not supposed to know. It emboldens me. I move toward Gale whose back is against the dresser. It would probably smart if I pushed him around a bit but I don't. Instead, I reach for the drink and finish it in a large gulp and set it down. I hook my fingers inside the front pockets of his slacks so he can't leave and ignore me. The action makes him jump a bit in surprise. I lock eyes with him in some bizarre staring contest.

"It's weird. I can't find Madge's identification. Have you seen it, Gale?" No words. Just stares. "Maybe I could head over to the District Secretary's office and inquire after it. Tell them how you helped me acquire it, hm?"

Gale smirks. "Nice bluff."

I glare at him and move my right hand down his inner left thigh over his pants. "I want details," I say, lightly brushing his neck with my lips. I feel him shudder then straighten and all of a sudden I see a bit of the 14-year-old boy form the Seam: vulnerable and hungry.

"No. No deal," Gale says, resolute.

"Fine," I say calmly. I step away and drop my dress. We both look at each other for a moment with nothing to say. We are both expressionless and calculating.

"I only want words. If you ask me, it's a pretty solid deal. I know you're up to something. My holo is malfunctioning. My ID is missing—"

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy."

"You're trying to keep me here. Me and no one else. I don't know why but I don't intend to be entirely witless. Not again. I need some control here. At least give me that."

Gale looks at me and sighs. His eyes wander downward, trying to will my underthings off with his eyes. He licks his lips and considers the proposal.

"Fine. What words do you want?" he asks, slumping a bit against the dresser.

"I want to know what your ultimate goal is with this medical research. Is it for biological warfare?" I quietly inquire.

"Nope. Not that question. Try again."

I sigh impatiently and move toward him, removing his shirt. My lips find themselves on his clavicle, pec, then trails of light kisses down his stomach.

"Maybe I could convince you?"

He shakes his head no but I can tell that his breathing is already a bit more labored.

I stop just above his belt and stand up. "Okay," I sigh and reach for my robe.

"Wait—" he says, unbuttoning his pants. "I will tell you…I'll tell you something else."

"Like what?" I ask, unconvinced and slipping on my robe.

"Like…it's not like we're the only ones working on this project. There are other facilties in District 12 and 13." I smile.

"And what are they doing there?" I don't think Gale knows how much I know exactly. Maybe he thinks he can't piece together any details.

"They're taking DNA samples from the population there," he says. I move to help his fumbling, buzzed hands unbutton his pants.

"What kind of samples?" I ask in whisper near his ear and kiss his earlobe. I feel a shiver run up his spine.

"Semen samples. It's easy and cheap to acquire obviously for our research."

"Why? What research?" I ask, kissing my way down his stomach once more.

"It's…" he struggles again to catch his breath. "It's fertility research. Because of the infertility issues in District 13."

"Go on," I encourage him, hoping he'll make a mistake being so distracted. I begin to pull down his slacks where my kisses follow their path. He shudders.

"Because of the Pox. We want to isolate the virus and reverse it. Or provide some kind of antidote."

Unlikely and I'm skeptical of it but I don't know enough about virology to dispute it. But with mention of the Pox…well, it's good enough. And he may have betrayed himself enough to suggest something leading to biological warfare of some kind. I just need to gain his trust to get more details.

"Is that what you wanted?" he looks down at me hopefully.

"Yes," I say. "That's what I wanted."

"Good," he smiles. He then grasps the back of my head and pulling me toward him, finds his way into my mouth.

"Now keep your mouth shut about it."


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**CHAPTER 38**

**[A/N]:** I feel like if I were reading this, I would question why Katniss couldn't just break into a file cabinet or something and just read this information. To clarify, I want to point out that this is the future and everything in most of the better off districts is purely electronic. And Peeta will enter the picture soon! No worries!

_Nous nous trompons toujours deux fois sur ceux que nous aimons: d'abord à leur avantage, puis à leur désavantage._ – Albert Camus

* * *

I wake up the next morning a bit sore from the night before and feeling…well. I don't feel _great _about myself for sleeping with Gale in exchange for a pitiful amount of information, that's for sure. But what have I really got to lose? Peeta's obviously moved on.

_Peeta._

I vaguely remember calling Gale "Peeta" in bed by accident and immediately regretting it. He slapped me for that one and truth be told, I kind of liked it. I kind of liked every bit of it, actually. Gale isn't shy, that's for certain. Plus, what else is there for me to do? Why not? It's not like Peeta can do any slut-shaming here since that would be the pot calling the kettle black.

Still. Despite having shared a bed with Gale and despite Peeta sharing multiple beds, I'm still holding out hope that whatever I get out of Gale will give me the upper hand. I hope it's something good that I can hold over his head in order to get him to get Peeta out of 12 (if that's what he wants, anyway). Surely Gale values his career over any dysfunctional, purely sexual relationship with me.

That's why on this Saturday morning, after Gale has already left my bed to head out for a trip to District 0 for the weekend, I decide to contact Dobbs. The holo hasn't been out of my sight since the luncheon yesterday so there is no way Gale could have deleted him, a business contact, from the company database in my holo.

_Dr. Dobson,_

_Good morning! I'm glad to have met you yesterday. I was hoping to speak further with you on your research efforts as discussed previously. Could we set up a time to meet at your research facility?_

_Thank you for your prompt response,_

_Katniss E—_

Delete, delete, delete!

_Margaret Undersee_

Within an hour, my holo began to beep, indicating that I had received a blip from him.

_Madge,_

_Good morning to you as well! I would like to thank you again for the invitation to the luncheon yesterday as I greatly enjoyed meeting the other half of our team! I've synced my calendar and the first of next month would be an ideal date. Would early morning work for you around 7 am? I'm a morning person. You know what they say!_

_Have a great weekend,_

_Dr. Hax Dobson_

* * *

So the month passes without event. I sleep with my holo near my pillow now and a few days out of the week, Gale finds himself in my bed. This is fine by me since I want to instill that sort of confidence and feel that he can trust me intimately and otherwise. If he thinks I'm growing to love and obey him, then maybe I can lure him into a feeling of safety by which something might slip…

I'm not sure how I can justify all this and not be absolutely repulsed by the idea of sex with Gale. Plenty of people have sex with people they dislike on a daily basis, I suppose. I try to look past this new business and politics Gale and find the Gale I knew so long ago…the Gale I could have loved. The Gale that was so smart and confident and kind. I imagine sitting on a hill overlooking the Hob on a warm summer's day with him, laughing, feeling the sun warm me until it feels like my veins are so full of happy they could burst.

So in the moments we're together, I think we both try to depart our current selves and travel back in time to six or seven years ago when this could have been possible and we could have been happy. When we were both just kids living in constant fear together of hunger and of Hunger Games but had actual hope. Now we're two dry, cynical, soul-sucking husks of our former selves, just 21 and 23 years old, sucking out what's left from each other. But I prefer to keep friends close and enemies closer…and I guess that goes twofold for Gale since he is now, somehow, both.

Although I'm excited at the prospect of obtaining more information, I am also dreading this day on which I must get up and be ready for work at 7h00. It's going to take a lot of coffee…

I tell Gale that I need a mental health day and he just says, "Whatever." We've gotten physically closer but outside of the bedroom, we're about as emotionally close as two rocks sitting next to each other in a stream.

So when I visit Dobbs at the facility, Gale is still asleep as I slip out the door. I take a cab to the facility which lies on the outskirts of the city in the desert.

"Welcome, Madge. How are you this morning? Awake yet?"

I shrug my shoulders sleepily but don't forget my manners.

"Thank you for allowing me to see the facility, Doctor," I say.

"Call me Dobbs," he says smiling, handing me a lab coat and cap to cover my hair.

He gives me a tour of the facility which is not quite as large as I had expected. Some calm music plays in the background and makes me even sleepier. Seeing this, Dobbs guides me over to a microscope containing multiple slides.

"Here, look," he says. It looks like nothing to me…just blurred colors. He shows me how to adjust it and finally something comes into view. It's just kind of…clear spaghetti.

"What _is_ it?" I ask. "It looks like spaghetti or noodles or something." And my stomach growls because I woke up late and neglected to eat breakfast.

"It's chromatin. If we zoom in further, you'd be able to see DNA and RNA," he explains. I know this seems elementary to him, but this is beyond my level of knowledge. A long span of silence stretches out before as I try to think of something to say.

"Well," I manage after a minute or so, "I know what DNA is."

"Spermatozoa have very densely packed chromatin which is why it looks like spaghetti. But once we unravel the spaghetti, we'll be able to gain information about the DNA structure."

I move away from the microscope as the intense focus is starting to dry out my eyes. I rub them briefly before addressing Dobbs with another question.

"So, what do you need the DNA for?"

"Well, once the host cell is infected with the RNA of the retrovirus, the RNA transforms itself into DNA. The DNA then attaches itself to the host's DNA to form a new code. This causes complications."

"Like what, for example? Like…could it, for example, cause infertility? Because it is messing with the DNA?"

Dobbs nods. "Yes. Not necessarily for all retroviruses but yes, that is possible."

"Can you tell if—or know that- that's what this one does?" I ask.

"No. Not without observing the virus under the correct environmental conditions within the host."

Hm. It isn't necessarily a "no" but why would they not have briefed the researchers that these cells are, from my estimates, people that had been infected by the Pox years ago in District 13?

"And somebody could acquire this virus by…what? Eating it?" And I put my hand over my mouth realizing the stupid thing I just said. I try to backpedal. "Oh, that was stupid. I mean…I mean…well, I don't know. I don't even know what I'm talking about let alone what questions to ask."

Dobbs laughs good-naturedly and thankfully, doesn't talk down to me.

"Well, possibly, but due to the high acidity of the stomach it's unlikely. No, oftentimes there would need to be direct fluid-to-blood transmission or by cellular injection. And even then, only under the correct cell environmental circumstances."

"Like a suppressed immune system?" I ask.

"Now you get it," he says.

I look around the lab, trying to process all of this.

"And you'll do what with this when it's all over?" I ask.

"That, I don't know," he responds and it appears truthful. "All I know is, we'll send it to another facility. I assume that maybe the enzymes will be injected into an empty cell embryo and frozen."

"And how much are you, this facility, instructed to extract?" I'm going out on a limb here but if it's to be used for biological warfare, I assume it would have to be on a grand scale.

"About eight million or so samples," he sighs. "It could take a while…if it even works."

Dobbs graciously shares a few other things with me and gives me other fun slides to look at but I begin to get a strange pain in my lower back, extending to my right shoulder. I excuse myself, saying I need to be back to the office by a certain time and thank Dobbs for having me. The pain continues during my cab ride back. I guzzle water, thinking that the heat of the desert has left me dehydrated and roll over the details of what I've learned in my mind.

_Separate research and processing facilities. Several million samples. A virus from sex cells to change your DNA._

I can't think, though, because the pain isn't subsiding so I head home where Hazelle makes me a mug of a warm tisane. I take it with some morphling to take the edge off and doze off on the chair next to Hazelle for a while.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

CHAPTER 39

An intense pain startles me awake in the chair. I must have slept for four hours because I can see Gale's shoes by the door. He's home. I can smell and hear Hazelle cooking dinner. It smells vaguely of onions and garlic and I can hear the sound of a wooden spoon stirring in a metal pot.

I rise and walk into the nearby kitchen to get myself water. Gale is seated at the table in the kitchen listening to Hazelle tell him about how well Posey has been doing in school. I walk in towards the sink to retrieve a glass of water.

"Are you okay?" Gale asks. "Were you actually _sick_ on your day off?"

"I just feel…my back really hurts. I don't know. Something's…" I trail off and look at the running water. A sharp pain shoots from my back to my shoulder and I start to see the corners of my vision close in before I hear a high-pitched whistle.

Blackness.

I feel myself coming out of a deep sleep, still with an intense pain. I find that I am being rushed into the E.R. on a gurney. The lights are so bright.

"What happened?" I hear a nurse ask.

"She passed out," I hear Gale's voice nearby. "She's been having back and shoulder pains today she said."

The nurse begins an exam. When she gets to my stomach, she presses down gently and I immediately cry out.

"It's warm and very tender. Miss, were you in an accident?"

"No," I sob.

"Your appendix may have ruptured. We'll have to do a CT and take a blood sample."

So a quick blood sample is taken and I'm rushed off to a big machine. The entire time, I'm in such blinding pain, I can't even remember half of what was said at the time. I certainly remember what was said afterward, though.

I'm in a small room that is partitioned off from the rest of the emergency room. Gale sits in a chair, unmoving, looking at the floor while I moan beside him in pain on my hospital bed. The doctor enters after about half an hour.

"I'm Dr. Lobo and I reviewed your tests. The good news it that you don't have appendicitis. That bad news is that you have a tubal pregnancy."

Aside from the beeping of the machines, there is only silence in this little room.

"You _did_ know you were pregnant?" He asks.

"No, no. We've only been intimate a few times and we always used protection. I'm pregnant?" I ask and begin to cry partly in pain and partly in absolute horror.

"Yes but it can't continue safely. We have to remove the fetus right away before your fallopian tube ruptures. It's a quick and relatively effective surgery. The nurse will prep you for surgery."

"Okay. Thank you, doctor," Gale says hoarsely. I look at him and he looks incredibly pale. He won't look at me.

"How could this happen?" I wonder aloud. "This is terrible. I know this is horrible to say but I'm so glad it isn't viable. I don't understand. We were so careful. We were only together a handful of times."

Gale continues to stare at the floor. The pain washes over me again like a wave and knocks the wind out of me. I just sob. There's nothing I can do.

"You could have died if we'd waited," Gale says quietly. I look at him in surprise because I didn't think he really cared that much. "I could never forgive myself."

"It's all right. We got here in time," I say with a hoarse voice, moaning through the pain.

"No," he shakes his head firmly. "Katniss, I set you up."

"What?"

"I compromised the integrity of the prophylactics we used."

I'm curled in the fetal position, barely able to breathe. _What is he talking about? Am I hallucinating?_

"I want to tell you just in case…I wanted to keep you. I thought that if you were pregnant, if you had my baby, that you'd stay in 2. That we'd learn to love each other. I just…when I sae you were still trying to get in touch with Peeta, and then when I saw you talking to Dobbs…I knew you never had been considering me. I was just an out." _Why is he telling me all this? Can't he just shut up?_

I reach for the light pink emesis bin at my bedside and violently vomit bile into it. _This can't be real._

The nurse enters with a small handheld. Her straight black hair is gathered in a loose, low bun. She seems young. It makes me wonder if Prim would still be in the medical program in 13. I miss her so terribly now and want her more than ever.

"Okay, we'll get started here," she says. And begins typing on her device.

"The name's Margaret Undersee," Gale speaks up for me, well-rehearsed. "Her birthday is—"

"Oh, we don't need that, honey. All of that information is already on record. We just need a blood sample," the nurse says, pricking my finger. _Of course. This was all part of a computerized system that was also used to register us for the Games._

After the prick, she holds my finger to a small handheld device. "KATNISS EVERDEEN," it announces in a tinny computerized voice.

The nurse blinks in surprise but narrowly maintains her poker face.

"The machine must be mistaken," Gale says to her.

The nurse gently pushes my sweat-soaked, tangled blonde strands out of my eyes and looks into my pained face. My face, eyes closed, face full of pain and desperation: a face everyone has seen, not in just one Game but two.

"I don't think it is," she says.

I'm wheeled to the OR and in a few minutes, the anesthesiologist appears.

"Count backward from ten. Ready? Go."

I don't bother counting but instead wait for and welcome the darkness overtaking me. I just want it to be over. I want all this to be over. I want to be away from Gale. I can't take this manipulation and deceit anymore.

I come to in a different room in pain, but it's a smaller amount compared to the blinding pain I experienced prior to the surgery. I look to my left to see Gale asleep in a chair. He looks so handsome and much younger. I miss my childhood friend but I don't know who this person is.

"Excuse me!" I hear a female voice yell. "Excuse me! You aren't authorized to be on this floor. Sir, stop!"

Another nurse blocks the door of my room with her body before reaching behind her for the door handle.

"You are violating this patient's privacy and it is against the law. Please leave or we will call the police."

I see a few quick flashes of light before the door closes. A camera. The word got out quickly that Katniss Everdeen is here and probably also that I am here because of a tubal pregnancy and Peeta is not the male accompanying me.

Gale wakes up after all the commotion. "Do you remember what I told you before?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I remember that you intentionally impregnated me because of your insecurities and control issues. How could you do that, Gale? You don't do that to people you care about."

He's silent.

"Please leave," I say.

"Katniss…"

"Get the fuck out of here or I will have the hospital call the police on you, too. I never want to see you again. I'm not coming back to work but you better believe you're paying for these medical bills. You're disgusting."

He exits the room without looking back at me and I feel very, very alone.

I soon settle back into sleep, however, only to be woken hours later by a tall, heavy, middle-aged woman. Her skin is blotchy and her face swollen but her eyes are a bright blue.

"Ms. Everdeen, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Flora and I'm your caseworker. I regret to inform you that it's come to my attention that there has been a search warrant out for you for some months now. You've violated the terms of your parole."

"What?" I ask. _Parole?_

"Yes. After the…um," she lowers her voice, "Assassination of President Coin, you were declared unstable. The terms of your parole were that you would remain in District 12 for 10 years or greater and continue seeing your psychiatrist, neither of which you have done. It is because of this that you must be returned to the Capitol Hospital in District 0. Once you have healed and the doctor OKs your discharge, you will be transferred to the behavioral ward of the Capitol Hospital under a psych diagnosis."

"For how long?" I ask.

"That, I do not know. It's out of my hands."

I press the heels of my hands into my eyeballs.

"I'm very sorry Ms. Everdeen. If it were up to me, you'd be free to go. For all your service to the rebellion." She pulls up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal her wrist on which there is tattooed the gold mockinngjay that came to symbolize the rebellion.

I smile weakly at her and nod.

_How far I've fallen_, I think.


	40. Chapter Forty

[A/N]: Not abandoned! Sorry- shame on me!

* * *

**CHAPTER 40**

In a few days, I'm given an escort of peacekeepers to see that I arrive on the train to District 0. Flora was kind enough to give me a wide-brimmed hat and glasses so that I might slip out unnoticed. Hopefully, the blonde hair will also help. To the best of my knowledge, no one really knows I'm a blonde now.

The slipping out unnoticed part didn't happen, of course, as photographers have been camped out at the hospital for days. Being escorted by Peacekeepers would typically give it away but due to heightened security measures, many patients were being discharged with a Peacekeeper escort. I know they'll be comparing different pictures of young women coming out of the hospital to try to figure out which one is Katniss Everdeen. I'm positive word already leaked that I had gone to the hospital for an ectopic pregnancy so I ask Flora to sneak away some baby blankets and a hat from the maternity ward so I could fashion a dummy neonate. It seems to work well enough since there is not the expected flurry of flashbulbs and rather, just a few pops of light here and there. Once I am on the train, the faux baby doubles as a nice travel pillow, so that's a plus. I have to quickly re-swaddle my newest accessory, though, before disembarking to find more photographers. I push my hospital bracelet up my sleeve. It doesn't have any information on it; just a scan code, but still, people are sometimes more observant than I think they are and someone is bound to notice that the same woman leaving the District 2 hospital has somehow shown up at this second hospital two districts away.

The peacekeepers escort me to a desk for check-in and they, along with a staff member, wheel me to an elevator where I am taken to a stark white floor. We get off the elevator and I find that there is only one entrance with one locked door. A staff member rings what looks to be a doorbell and a small, tinny voice answers, "Yes?"

"I have a patient here for admission," the staff member says.

"Expected?" the voice asks. I hear faint yelling in the background.

"Yes," the staff member answers back. He's an older gentleman, probably a retiree volunteering his time.

"Please scan the patient's bracelet," the voice commands. The gentleman motions first to my wrist and then to the scanner and I hear the door unlock. The peacekeepers remain on the outside unmoving while the gentleman wheels me in. "Thank you," I call back to the peacekeepers. I don't know why but it seemed like something I should say. In any case, I'm glad I had the company and even gladder that said company didn't feel compelled to engage in any ridiculous small talk.

When I enter, there isn't much décor to speak of and all the furniture is bolted to the floor. The room has a very industrial and cold feeling to it. It's very bland. Soft music plays in the background with one large wall that functions as a screen with different nature scenes. Currently, a fawn frolics in a field of tall grass and wildflowers. An elderly woman sees the deer and freezes and begins to cry. The unit clerk sleepily presses a button and the scene changes to an ocean and the sound of softly rolling waves seems to calm the woman and she falls back in a chair, unmoving.

The unit clerk motions for me to sit as well. "Ok, ma'am, please have a seat and your caseworker will be with you. I'll page her right now."

I'm uneasy, not quite certain what to expect, and wish I had some morphling right now. One advantage of being admitted to the hospital was that the pain from the surgery had been managed with morphling.

A stout woman comes out and greets me. She wears a plain taupe shift dress with a matching taupe wig. Compared to most members of District 0, she is quite plain with comparatively little maquillage. I'm not sure if this is a personal style choice or one imposed by her choice of work where I'm sure facial tattoos could, to a delusional mind, jump off the wearer's face and begin to dance. Right on cue, as if someone were reading my thoughts, a patient wanders in from a hallway, peaks in the room, yells something incomprehensible, and continues on his way as if nothing had happened.

"Sorry about that. I'm Flora," she says, shaking my hand. "It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Everdeen. Big fan," she smiles warmly but this alone seems somehow inappropriate. Oh well. What are you supposed to say?

"Are you all named Flora?" I ask.

"What?" she looks genuinely confused.

"My last caseworker…." I lead in, but her face remains unchanged so I abandon it, not in the mood to explain it. "Oh, nevermind. It's not important."

She shakes it off. "Well, I will be working on your case. Here, I will walk you through and give you a tour of the floor," she lightly places a hand in the middle of my back, ushering me on.

"Oh, I don't know. I'd rather not. I think I'll be ok and figure it out. I'd rather just stay in my room."

"I'm sorry, but it's mandatory. We don't allow patients to stay in their rooms all day unless it's under special circumstances. You will be expected to participate in groups. For instance, we have you signed up for anger management and substance abuse management."

I feel a little offended by this but brush it off.

"You earn points for attending these," she continues. "You can purchase snacks or outing privileges with these points and they factor into when you will be discharged as well."

I bristle at the thought of this. I don't like the idea of being given point incentives like a school child.

"This is the dining room," she says. "You eat all your meals here. It will be lunch soon. That group of patients always gets together at that table each day before lunch to play cards."

The patients look up at me and nod, unsmiling. No recognition seems to cross their faces or, if they do recognize me, perhaps they don't care.

"Oh, I should mention," Flora begins. "In case you were worried, many of the patients may not recognize you. Many of these patients have been here for a few years so it's possible they may not have seen your Games."

"How?" I ask. "Isn't it mandatory viewing?"

"Not in the Capitol it isn't—well, wasn't. Most people wanted to watch them, though. We felt that it was unsuitable programming for most of our guests, however."

_Guests_. The word seems out of place. I feel more like a prisoner although, I guess under my circumstances, I essentially am a prisoner.

"And my mother?" I ask.

"Your mother?" Flora questions.

"Yes. I—I'm told she works here. At this hospital, I mean. I…I would prefer she didn't know that I'm here and I would prefer she didn't visit me. Is that possible?"

Flora seems surprised but reassures me. "Since your mother is not your power of attorney or responsible guardian, she was not notified. We can keep it that way if you like and place a notification in your chart saying that you wish to keep her off the unit."

I nod, not meeting Flora's eyes. "But Haymitch knows."

"Yes, Haymitch knows, dear."

"Everything?"

"Haymitch knows you were admitted after being transferred from a hospital in District 2 because you've violated the terms of your parole. I didn't discuss the reasons for your initial admission in 2," she says in a confidential voice.

"It doesn't matter," I sigh. "I think everyone in the Republic knows."

Flora is silent and unmoving.

"Flora, everyone knows. I know everyone does. There were photographers everywhere. I know what everyone thinks."

"That doesn't matter right now. You're here where very few people know you or anything. Enjoy it while you can and use this time to focus on regaining control of your life," Flora says firmly. I laugh because the prospect of having any control sounds completely unrealistic.

She shows me to my room which features two twin beds with overhead lamps and two armoires. The bathroom is off to the side. A woman, perhaps only a few years older than myself, emerges from the bathroom.

"Katniss, this is Tansy, your roommate," Flora says.

"Hi, I'm Tanzy," she says rather flatly with a stone expression. She speaks hurriedly. "Hey, I'm thirty-one. How old are you?"

I'm surprised by both her age and the question. There's something childlike about her demeanor and I feel as though I'm talking to someone much younger than I am even though in truth, she is a few years older.

"I'm…I'm twenty-two," I say.

"I'm Tanzy. What's your name?" she asks.

"Katniss," I say, quietly, feeling like I've been transported back to grade school.

"Hey, Katniss, I don't mind if you borrow my clothes. Just ask and we can share. I like your braid—maybe you could show me how to do that sometime? Are you in any groups?" Tansy is like a little hummingbird, flitting from topic to topic without a pause in between even though she had posed questions. It comes off a little unnatural as if a computer were speaking to me. There's no musicality to her voice, just words and sentence structure.

"Oh, um, thanks," I say. "And I don't remember which groups I'm in."

Flora cuts in. "Oh, Katniss, I'll take you to your first group right now. We'll head off to anger management—"

"Oh, I'm not in that one," Tansy interrupts. "I graduated from that one." A kid would usually grin at the idea of such an achievement but Tansy's lips don't even crack a smile. Her face remains steady, her eyes fixed.

"That's good," I offer, not quite sure what to say.

"We should be leaving now, ladies," Flora says, lightly putting pressure on my back to usher me in the right direction.

"Bye," Tansy says.

"Bye, Tansy. It was nice talking to you," I say and gladly follow Flora. I'm already a little unnerved just to be here without talking to my odd roommate. She seems nice enough but who knows why she's even here. She must be one of the patients staying long-term as she doesn't seem to recognize me.

The room we enter is relatively small with white walls, white folding chairs, and a few tables. The walls are adorned with some coloring pages either completed by children or patients (it was a little hard to tell which). It's absurd in a way but the coloring pages give it a sort of endearing, welcoming quality, as if I could expect to curl up on a bean bag and listen to the teacher read a story to all of us.

"Please have a seat," Flora says calmly. "Another one of the patients on my caseload will be joining us for group today."

"Oh," is all I say because really, what can you say? _'Delightful'_? _ 'I'd rather they didn't'_?_ 'I shouldn't even be here'_?

I don't really feel that my anger is mismanaged to the point that I require a class. If anything, maybe it's displaced. Well, actually, I suppose I manage it quite well with the morphling. I know this place will be sure to cut me off, though knowing full well that I use it as a coping mechanism. I wonder if Tansy got to be that way from the morphling or if she was just born that way. Or both.

I sit in silence with Flora waiting for the second patient. The room is eerily quiet and thoughts race through my mind about what I might expect. Will the food be good? Who will I sit with? Tansy? Ugh, I don't think I could bear to hear her ramble on and on, though. I wonder if I could sit alone or if the doctors would look upon that unfavorably. Maybe if I make friends I could get out sooner.

I hear footsteps echo down the hall and feel a spike of anxiety wondering what strange traits I will have to confront next. I look down at my hands set on the table curled into tight balls. I unclench my fists and study my nails. I need to file them or something. The top layers of some of my nails are peeling back.

In the middle of my thoughts, I realize that the footsteps have stopped and, was it even possible? The room has gotten quieter. I hesitate, finding that somewhere along the way, I had begun to hold my breath. I take in a deep gulp of air and cautiously look up.

There is a pair of familiar blue eyes staring into my gray eyes, the sclerae red from the removal of my recent blue contacts. My hair remains blonde, though, with a hint of roots beginning to show.

I'm forgetting to exhale and when I realize it, the woosh of air is audible.

"I thought I was looking at Prim for a second but…" he walks closer and glares down at me. "It's you."

We stare at each other blinking for a few moments while Flora silently gets up and closes the door so that it's just the three of us in the room.

I look a little different to be sure but there was no mistaking who stood before me in that little white room with the childlike drawings and the smell of disinfectant.

The room is tiny but it feels like the expanse of space separates the two of us, Peeta Mellark and me.


	41. Chapter Forty-One

CHAPTER 41

The three of us are quiet and unmoving, not sure how to proceed. Peeta seats himself at one of the chairs at the table. He sits next to me with a seat separating us while Flora sits directly across from the open seat. I again stare at my hands and the uneasiness in the room is palpable.

Flora clears her throat, "I canceled the group for the other patients so we could have some privacy. I know you two have a history that has contributed to the reasons for your individual stays. I wanted to set aside some time so that we could all discuss things and reacquaint ourselves so that neither of you would be taken off guard seeing each other in the dining room."

Peeta says nothing. I say nothing. I have a lot of questions to be sure but I'd rather discuss them in private. Then I consider that the past few years haven't involved any private life whatsoever so really, what harm could there be?

Flora breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Perhaps you'd like to begin with how you came to be here?"

Peeta and I don't look at each other but after some hesitation, I hear him inhale to begin speaking. "I already know. Katniss had an abortion and the hospital figured out who she was, notified Haymitch, and he told them to lock her up here."

Flora says nothing and waits for me to respond.

"No," I say, indignant. "That's not it at all. You thought I had an _abortion_?"

"Well, I was surprised, too. I knew you didn't want kids but I thought with Gale—"

"No. You know nothing." I turn my attention to Flora. "May I leave, please? This isn't constructive."

"No, Katniss. We have set an hour aside to talk about things. Perhaps you'd like to set the record straight, then, if that isn't how the events occurred." Flora's voice is calm.

I finally raise my eyes to look at Peeta who is now also staring at his hands. He doesn't look very different…maybe a bit more harried with darker circles under his eyes but still very handsome. I'm reminded of his smile and realize how much I miss it.

I sigh.

"Peeta, this isn't how it was supposed to happen. I tried reaching out to you—"

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Right. I didn't hear a word from you, Katniss. Except after that memorial ceremony when you just up and left and left me a note saying, 'Oh, by the way, I'm running off with Gale.'"

I turn to Flora to explain since Peeta obviously isn't listening to what I have to say. "I must have sent him twenty or thirty messages or so on my holo and he never responded to any."

"Well, where are these messages then? I received nothing." I scrolled through my holo and showed Peeta the multitude of written messages and his face softens.

"There," I say. "_To: Peeta Mellark_. Look at all the dates. Were you just mad? Did you just ignore them because you were that furious and just assumed things?"

"No, Katniss," he says, handing me back my holo. "I never received these. Truly. I didn't hear a word from you."

I think about this and get a sick feeling that confirms what I had already suspected months ago.

"I thought I was just being paranoid before but..." I begin.

"Yes?" Flora urges on.

"There was one night that I set my holo down. When I woke up, I swear it was gone but I went back to sleep. The next morning, it was there again."

"Are you saying somebody was trying to prevent us from communicating? Who would do that?" Peeta asked. I look at him knowingly.

"I didn't think he would do something like that. He couldn't have." Peeta says.

"Well, if I thought he would do this, I wouldn't have gone with him, obviously," I respond truthfully.

"But you were just fine sleeping with him," he says accusingly. I don't let the anger I feel get the better of me, though and respond calmly.

"You don't know what happened. You don't know my reasons behind it. And you slept with many, many different girls in the meantime. So you don't get to judge," I say.

He's quiet and doesn't look at me.

"Or is that just a tabloid rumor and you've been hard at work at the diner kneading dough and not kneading Johanna Mason's breasts?" I ask with a somewhat biting tone. He grows angry.

"Don't talk about her like that. Just don't. I had a hard time after you left! You don't even know. Johanna saved me. We saved each other," he yells, jumping up from his chair and nearly knocking it over. "You don't know what it was like when we were…after the Quarter Quell. You and Gale were safe and warm with Haymitch in 13 and Johanna and I were as good as dead. Abandoned. I thought you abandoned us again. "

I feel a pang of jealousy over all this talk of Johanna saving him, Peeta saving Johanna and I wonder, who saved whom again?

"I thought I was saving us. Don't you want it to be just us out of the public eye…to find out what we're really made of? To learn how to love each other?" I tell him gently and he looks away. "Peeta, don't you still want that?"

Peeta is silent for a moment. "Of course I do, Katniss, but it's been a year and…" he trails off.

_He loves Johanna_, I think. I'm losing him.

"Peeta, listen. I thought we would get away and Gale would help us out and get us on our feet. He told me he only had one job and couldn't risk smuggling us both across districts. He brought Madge back to life…I thought maybe you'd become another missing person from District 12, too. But…Gale kept stalling. He was busy with work and…and…somehow, he made me feel guilty for wanting you back. He made me feel like I was asking too much of him to bring you back to me."

Peeta looks at me and I can see in his eyes that he's dubious.

"But then I learned something, found out some stuff…" I look up at Flora, who had begun jotting down notes. "I mean, it's a long story. But to make a long story short, I had to make Gale trust me. I had to make him believe that he was the one in control and that I had fallen for him so that I could get you out of 12 and away from Haymitch. In the end, I guess I trusted Gale too much. You know that pregnancy wasn't just an accident."

Peeta's face grew a bit red; I think maybe it was in anger. "You got knocked up on purpose so that you could be with me again?" he asked incredulously.

"No. He told me that he compromised the integrity of the prophylactics." Peeta stared at me with a blank stare, uncomprehending. "Oh, Peeta, he poked holes in the goddamn condoms! Seriously."

I could tell he was shocked because…honestly, who does something like that?

We don't say anything for a while. Flora finishes jotting down notes and regards Peeta this time.

"Peeta," she asks. "Now, is there anything you want to explain to Katniss during your time apart? Explain any misunderstandings or relationships?"

Peeta clears his throat. "Well, I mean…I think you know. Obviously, I thought you were gone. I was having so many nightmares and the only way I could get any kind of sleep was to drink alongside Haymitch until I passed out. Other times when I was a little less drunk, I slept around. Is that what you want to know?"

I reach for Peeta's hand in what should have been a reassuring and loving gesture but it feels like holding the hand of a mannequin.

"Johanna?" I ask meekly, remembering the last conversation she and I had had about Gale and Peeta. Did she think I had made my choice and was there to swoop in on my sloppy seconds or did she truly care for Peeta?

"Johanna was there when you weren't. She took care of me and started sleeping next to me at night to try to encourage me to rest. I know it's hard to believe, Katniss, but she was so kind and patient and caring…and _understanding_. She understands."

_She doesn't understand like I do, Peeta_, I think. But then again, they were together in the Capitol. Maybe that's where Peeta and I began to fall apart and we just didn't know it.

"So that's how you ended up here, then? For the drinking?" I ask him.

"Sort of," he shakes his head. "Things were okay for a little while but all of a sudden, something happened with Johanna. Just like…like a relapse. Maybe it was hearing me scream during those black outs, I don't know. Maybe it brought back memories. But she was so frightened of the water…just so odd. She stopped looking after herself and stopped bathing. I tried to help her, to encourage her or bathe her but she'd have these panic attacks. Soon, she deteriorated to a point that she would sit around motionless all day and wouldn't drink any water. She was first sent out for dehydration. Then the hospital decided to keep her for psych. She was transferred here to District 0 to see Dr. Aurelius since he had been responsible for her care before. I was just…alone then. I drank so much one night that I aspirated my own vomit. Haymitch was just so sick of us both and the diner was suffering because of us so he sent me here, too. I haven't heard from him again and we've been here over a month."

"To be with _her_," I finish for him. He says nothing. "So Johanna's here, too, and you're here more for her than for yourself."

I exhale slowly and feel angry for not having been able to foresee any of this. Most of all, though, I'm angry that Peeta loves someone who potentially only loves Peeta for his status and celebrity. Johanna's not a particularly warm, fuzzy personality.

I now feel more alone than I ever did in District 2.

Flora lets us sit in silence for a time to digest the information. She hasn't been at all helpful. Finally, she speaks.

"Well," she says in a tone a little too light for the occasion, "Our hour of group time is up. Is there anything either of you want to discuss? Any parting words before we…uh…part?"

I look at my feet. Peeta looks at his. We're drenched in silence until I decide to be polite and humor Flora by answering, "No."

Flora gathers her things and leaves the room. After some uncomfortable seconds, Peeta and I rise from our seats to exit the room. As he reaches for the door, I grab Peeta by the hand and lean my body into his against the wall.

"If it's any consolation," I murmur into his ear, lightly kissing his earlobe, "I called him your name when we were together. He hit me for that."

I expect a smirk of satisfaction from him but am met with a cold stare instead. In a stupid and pathetic move, I attempt to move in for a kiss to…I don't know? Try to reconcile this past year?

He pushes me away in disgust, though. "You can't just do that, Katniss. Not now. Not anymore."

He walks through the doorway without ever looking back and I realize everything I've lost. It hits me in the stomach and it hits me hard and I run for the nearest trash can to vomit. _I could really use some morphling right now._

The utter horror of the realization of where I am washes over me. No, no morphling here. That's the last thing I will be getting. I'm in this place with a bunch of lunatics and addicts and Johanna without Peeta or morphling. I think to myself briefly that I wish my fallopian tubes _had_ ruptured and that I had bled out. But then Gale would have accomplished his goal of keeping me from Peeta and from completing whatever plan he's manipulated even Dobbs into concocting.

He would have gotten almost everything and…well, I just can't let him do that.


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

[A/N]: A little _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless_ mind for ya...except, you know...without the whole stoners coming over to your house to perform brain surgery part.

* * *

**CHAPTER 42**

"I told you, I'm not clean. I didn't want it but they held me down and raped me. The demons took my body."

Groggily, I roll over in my bed and look at Tansy. She's sitting on the side of her bed with her back to me, hunched over. She must be talking on her holo.

"Tansy?" I ask.

She turns around and looks at me and laughs that nervous laugh of hers. "Sorry," she says in a small voice.

"Who are you talking to?" I ask and then realize she has nothing on her wrists and probably doesn't even own a holo.

"Nobody." She turns back around and hunches back over. "Will you pray for me?" she asks me.

_What a weird way to wake up_, I think. It still isn't the strangest thing I've come across in life thus far, though. "Yeah, Tansy, I'll pray for you. Let's go back to sleep for now, though."

As if on cue, however, a nurse knocks on the door. "Staff!" she yells as she walks in the door. "Time to get up, ladies. Come on. Let's go to the dining room for breakfast."

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I begin to see a series of descending rectangles behind my eyelids. I hadn't had the most restful night of sleep—probably the worst I've had in months. I kept waking up and had difficulty falling back asleep. I kept thinking of Peeta, kept having dreams about being in the arena. Peeta and Johanna were working as a team against me, though. They were trying to kill me.

In a weird way, I begin to miss Gale now. I hate myself for the thought but I don't miss the new Gale that I barely recognize. I miss old Gale and I miss the vanilla-cinnamon smell of Hazelle and I miss playing with Posey's hair. I guess I was using Gale, too, to hold on to a part of my life and a part of the country that just no longer exists. There's no old District 12 for me to go back to and there's no post-Games Peeta for me to go back to. I'm alive and I survived two Hunger Games and a war but I'm not really sure now why I went through all that trouble. I fought to get back to the people I love and I'm still fighting.

Then… I _know_ that I love Peeta. If I didn't love him, I'd be dead by now. After Prim died, I thought, well, that's it. These few years of struggle? The reason for them is gone and it's all been a waste. But somewhere along the way Peeta found his way into my heart. I didn't invite him, that's for sure. But he took up space there all the same and Prim's leaving only left more room for him. The only time he's been out of my head is when I've been sunken into a state of oblivion, high on morphling, feeling colors and tasting sounds and just _happy_. Happy happy. Then I feel angry thinking about it all and coming back to morphling. There are just too many feelings and thoughts and that's all I want. All I need is morphling and it will just be fine. Nobody gets it. And that makes me mad, too.

Breakfast is dismal with runny scrambled eggs, some tough sausage and two pieces of toast but I'm grateful for it all the same, remembering a time when I would have done anything for some sausage. I'm seated at a table with Tansy and some other women. I don't quite understand the seating arrangement but we seem to be assigned according to our room numbers. Another woman with dyed bright orange hair and poorly painted on makeup joins us. I'm not sure where our fourth tablemate is.

"Oh, a new girl. I'm Septima," the clownish-looking woman says. She must be middle-aged but even so, as she smiles, I see that she has no teeth. She tears at her toast with her gums nonetheless.

"I'm Katniss," I say, staring at my eggs.

"You're not from the Capitol, I guess," Septima says between bites.

"No, I'm from District 12," I respond, hoping against hope that Septima's been here a while.

"Oh, District 12," she responds probably uninterested but making polite conversation. "There's another one here from District 12," she says before taking a large swig of orange juice. She nods her head slightly ahead and to the right and a dribble of juice traces the crease around her mouth down to her chin.

I look across the room to see Peeta sitting at a table of women—clearly not his table since room blocks aren't coed. He's sitting in a seat he's pulled up next to the other residents. He must feel my gaze on him because he looks up briefly. We lock eyes but quickly look away.

"Do you know each other?" Septima asks.

"No," I tell her, wanting to avoid any follow up questions. It's my time to enjoy being anonymous, right? Why would I risk the luxury by giving away my secrets? "Do you know him?" I ask.

"Not really. I've talked to him and his girlfriend a few times. She came here a little bit before him. She's interesting." _I bet she is._

"Which one is his girlfriend?" I ask, Johanna nowhere to be found.

"The one on his right," she says, pointing to the girl with her fork. "That one. Joan or Jana or something like that. I don't know. She doesn't talk much."

I see the shell of what had formerly been Johanna next to him and feel immediately sick. She was pale and thin and wore a soft protective helmet on her head. I'm so shocked and saddened. Even though Johanna had taken the opportunity of my absence to move in on Peeta, I'd never wish this on her. Johanna was like the older sister I never had and now…

"Are you going to eat that?" Tansy asks, interrupting my thoughts. She points to the remainder of my food that, in truth, I've barely touched.

"Um…" I begin, finding the question just odd. "No. Do you want it? You can have it."

"Thanks!" she says and happily moves my plate in front of her and begins to eat. I turn my attention back to Septima.

"Septima, why does that girl wear a helmet like that?" I ask.

"Oh, well parts of her skull are missing," she says nonchalantly as if that wouldn't invite more follow-up questions.

"Why?" I ask.

"I don't know. She has a lot of surgeries," she says and begins to clear her tray. She stands up. "Bye, ladies. See you in group." She leaves.

I sit at the table in silence, not quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing next. Tansy is staring at me.

"I have things in my body," Tansy tells me.

I regard Tansy, not knowing how to respond, and stand up and leave the table. I just don't know what to say to her most of the time. I make my way over to Peeta and Johanna. I can tell from the look on Peeta's face that he isn't quite sure what to anticipate from this upcoming meeting.

"Hi, Johanna…I saw you from across the room and I wanted to say hello. It's been a while…"

Johanna looks up at me, searching my face for some sort of recognition. "I'm sorry…" she begins.

"It's Katniss, Johanna," Peeta says, patting her hand. "Look. You remember Katniss."

She stares up at me again and turns my name over and over in her mouth as if to appraise it. "Katniss…Katniss…yes, I know Katniss from a long time ago, I think. But you don't look like Katniss."

"My hair is different," I offer. It's quite visible now that I'm not a natural blond. I wish I could just cut each strand off. Then, at least, I wouldn't have to concern myself with brushing out the knots from tossing and turning all night.

"You have to forgive me," she says, sounding not one bit like the old Johanna. "I've had some surgeries and my memory isn't very good." It sounds like a rehearsed script that she's been trained to say.

"Oh, it's okay," I tell her and the sadness grows. Where is funny, sarcastic, Johanna?

"But I'm happy," she says, turning to smile at Peeta. Peeta returns her smile and pats her hand.

"Drink plenty of water, Johanna," Peeta reminds her, handing her a glass of water. "We need to keep you hydrated." She takes the water from him and drinks deeply. "Keep eating and drinking, Johanna. I'll be back. I'm going to talk to our friend Katniss for a bit." Johanna nods and smiles and waves goodbye to me. I swear I could burst into tears then. What I wouldn't do to have Johanna yell at me to walk of the short end of a long pier again.

Peeta ushers me to the back of the dining room near the tray line.

"Why is she like this?" I ask him quietly.

"She's had a few different surgeries to get rid of some of her memories…especially when we were tortured," he says, looking around, not wanting to be heard.

"What! They can't do that!" I begin to protest.

"Katniss," Peeta says gently. "She wanted it. She volunteered for it."

I'm in disbelief that Johanna would agree to turn into a blob like this. I can't believe she'd let anybody put her under let alone tamper with her brain.

"I can't believe she would just agree to something like that. That isn't the Johanna I know," I say.

"She wasn't able to take care of herself. She couldn't bathe. She was starting to fall apart. She couldn't stand to just fall to pieces like that. She never has before. Believe me, I tried to talk her out of it."

I look back at Johanna clumsily eating her meal. "What did they do? Cut out her skull and parts of her brain?"

"No," Peeta says, shaking his head. "Well, not really. I guess they just cut certain connections in her brain. Like, they show you images or have you listen to sounds or smell things that will trigger an anxiety response I guess. And I guess they can see which connections light up on the screens they have. They just laser the connections apart. I mean, I don't really understand it but it's something like that."

"She must have had a millions connections snipped, then because it seems like she's got nothing left!" I say in horror. Peeta's face grows dark.

"Don't talk about her like that. It's an ongoing process. It's why she has the helmet. She'll keep getting better."

"Peeta, how can you be sure? This isn't right. People aren't like holos; you can't just go in at night and delete whatever you want out of it." Peeta rolls his eyes at the reference to my excuse for not staying in contact with him. My mistake.

"Sorry," I say impatiently. "Look, we need to convince her not to do anymore."

"It's what she wanted. And you heard her say it herself: she's happy. I don't hear her crying at night anymore or just laying there in the same catatonic state all day. She's more human than she had been. You didn't see her. And what wouldn't you give to not remember these past few years? Don't you wish you could go back in time, too?"

"Of course but…" and then I look at Peeta. I really look at the desperation in his face and my heart shoots straight up into my throat. "Peeta… you aren't considering this, too, are you?"

He's silent for a long time. Too long.

"I'm on the list. I mean, it's still in its experimental stages but…if I could just move on from all of this…Katniss, we've got nothing anymore. We have death and blood staining our memories. I don't want it. I want to be free. How is it any different from you using morphling?"

"It's much different," I tell him. "It's not reversible! Your brain was already tampered with and look what it's done to you. You could be sent into a fit of homicidal rage at any moment without warning. The Capitol messed with your brain against your will and now you're just going to let them do it again without a fight?"

Peeta sighs and rubs at the dark circles beneath his eyes. "I've thought about it again and again, Katniss. I know. I know what you're saying. But I'm just…" he sighs and leans against the cinderblock wall. "I'm just so tired, Katniss. Aren't you? Aren't you tired? What are we even fighting for anymore?"

_Us? Aren't we fighting for us anymore, Peeta?_ But I don't say that.

"Aren't we fighting for freedom? Fighting to reclaim ourselves?" I grab his hands now and look into his eyes. "Don't you remember when you told me you didn't want them to change you?" He looks at me silently. "Well, don't let them, Peeta."

Peeta shakes his head and closes his eyes. "I hoped we could get back to the way things were but…we can't. We just can't come back from everything that happened, Katniss. This is our new reality."

"We're Victors. We adapt," I remind him. "Why are you trying to run now?"

Peeta's becoming visibly upset over it and beginning to clench and unclench his fists.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Katniss. I've thought about it a lot. It's been a hard decision. Maybe you should think about it, too."

And with that, he turns on his heels and exits the dining room and I watch his back recede into the whiteness of the long hallway.

Suddenly, Tansy's standing next to me. "You're going to pray for me, right?" She asks me.

I sigh. "Yeah," I say, "If you'll pray for me, too."


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

CHAPTER 43

"Staff!" a female voice yells before walking into the room. Flora trots in authoritatively. Something's obviously on her mind.

I sit up from my reclined position in bed. I don't do much nowadays…I just mostly sleep or lie in bed and methodically roll the pearl Peeta gave me so long ago between my fingers, paying careful attention to its smoothness. It's ridiculous but sometimes when I gaze at it, I just have this overwhelming feeling like…like I just have to crush it in between my fingers. I press down on it and try but it usually just jumps from between my fingers and rolls onto the floor. It doesn't stop me from doing the exact same thing the next day, though.

"Yes?" I ask, already knowing what the complaint will be.

"You have been here two—has it been two now?— nearly two weeks. You have not attended any groups since the second day. Is there a problem?"

Yeah, there's a problem. That day, there was a new admit from, oh, I don't know. District 2 maybe. She kept staring at me all day. She kept staring at me in group that day, too. Finally, I turned and looked her straight in the eye while the social worker was talking so that she would know that, yes, I _noticed_ her staring. This set her off.

"Slut! You rebel slut!" she yelled at me accusingly. Everyone stared between the two of us, surprised that the exchange was occurring. I want to emphasize, though, that they were _surprised_. Not shocked. No one is shocked by anything here…not anymore.

"Please sit down, Marcia or you will be asked to leave group," the social worker calmly reminded her.

"You think we don't know who you are? Katniss. Fucking. Everdeen. Yeahhhh. You're a dirty outer district coal slut who thinks she's better than the loyal districts. You think you're so smart—you think—"

"Marcia, I have to ask you to leave. This is your warning and if you continue, you lose privileges."

The woman named Marcia stared at the caseworker defiantly. I didn't bother to stay for the showdown. I was uninterested in the exchange, uninterested in the topic of group, and didn't care to stick around to see if anybody else became wise to my identity and my involvement in the outside world.

But instead, I look up at Flora, shrug my shoulders nonchalantly and tell her, "No," even though I'm a hundred percent positive that the social workers sit in their offices laughing about the crazy things we all do in between sips of their herbal tisanes.

"You need to start attending, Katniss, or we will have to send someone to one on one you," Flora says sternly. She tries so hard and I truly like Flora…it's just that her sternness is really undermined by the putty-like appearance of her round face.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Someone has to sit with you all day and strongly recommend you attend activities," she says.

Well, they've got me there. There are few things as unpleasant as having someone babysit you all day and escort you to the bathroom or shower or wherever else you happen to go in your day.

"Fine," I relent. "I'll go."

"We hate to make it feel like a punishment, Katniss—can I call you Kat?"

"Umm—" I begin, but Flora continues.

"But these activities are meant to be part of your treatment in conjunction with your weekly sessions with Dr. Aurelius and your medication. It's imperitive that you go and a requirement for your release. If there is—" she is interrupted by another small knock at the door.

"Um, sorry to interrupt," the voice calls. It's one of the aides here. "Miss Everdeen has a visitor."

"Oh, lovely!" Flora says, a bit too cheerfully. "Yes, send the visitor to the sitting room down the hall." She then turns to me. "It will have to be supervised, of course."

Supervised? Well, good, since I have no idea who might be even visiting me. If it's my mother, I'll be glad to have a mediator that can tell her that her presence is detrimental to my treatment.

Flora leads me down the hall to a small room with a large occasional table and a multitude of vinyl overstuffed chairs. As we enter the room, I turn my head to find Haymitch sitting in the corner chair.

"Sweetheart!" he says, a little too warmly and gives me a large, sarcastic hug.

"Hi, Haymitch," is all I can think of to say in reply.

"Long time no see," he pats the top of my head like a small child and turn his regard to Flora. "Could we have some time to talk?"

"Of course," she says. Then she doesn't move. After a few awkward moments, Haymitch clarifies.

"I mean…just me and the girl," he says with an annoyed chuckle.

"Oh! Well, it has to be supervised so uh…well, we have to know there will be no illicit substances exchanged and that you and the patient are both safe from bodily harm."

"Of course, of course," Haymitch says, probably the kindest I've heard him. "But you have cameras for the room, yeah? Just give us a minute to talk. It's a little…well, awkward with a third person just staring. You know what they say…three's a crowd!" He nudges Flora with her elbow in a friendly, amicable way. "Plus, lovely Capitol women distract me." Flora giggles and protests here. "I just need to talk to my girl, Katniss."

Flora considers it. "Well, for you, Mr. Abernathy," she nudges him back with her elbow playfully and I realize just how charming Haymitch can be if he wants to. He's always been a persuasive one and it served him well in old Capitol society, I see. The young and handsome wild thing from District 12 hasn't left the imaginations of Capitol women of a certain age.

Flora exits the room and shuts the door behind her.

"You sicken me," I tell him. Half jest, half true.

"Well, now, are you sure those aren't just some residual hormones making their way out of your system? Ohhhh, sweetheart, I know you know I heard about that. I hear about _everything_."

I sigh and take a seat. I feel that this entire visit is going to be a lecture from Haymitch about how terrible I am as a human being and as an example for other human beings.

"Why do you have to be so self-destructive, Katniss? Why do you do this?"

"Why do _I_ do this? And you're one to talk about self-destructive! My first mistake was ever trusting _you_, Haymitch. I thought we had moved past being your pawns in whatever it is you're playing. I thought Peeta and I were…were your…" I struggle to find the words.

"My what? My _kids_?" he asks jokingly. And then I stop and consider this a moment and I realize something. I look up at Haymitch and put my hands on my hips.

"Well…yeah!" I say, both angry and surprised. Haymitch's face does this weird transformation from mirthful to quizzical to sorrowful and then just—blank: the usual Haymitch pokerface.

Haymitch sinks down into a firmer chair and hides his face in his hands for about a minute.

"Katniss, you wanna know why I did it? It wasn't just for the money. We aren't quite broke yet. I wanted you to stay beloved. I didn't want people to forget what you stood for and what you and Peeta fought for. I didn't want things to go back to the same old ugly class wars and to the same political games. You saw where that was headed with Coin. You and Peeta _united_ people. You both just have this thing. I don't know what it is. But you give people something to strive for. Everyone is struggling to rebuild now and…well, we were, too. We still are. I just thought everyone needed to know they weren't alone and that their shining, beautiful Mockingjay was having the same growing pains, too." He smooths my hair away from my face and rests his forefinger under my chin. "Stop resisting it. You can't get the past back with Gale, sweetheart. Or Peeta. Or anyone. You kissed it goodbye forever when you volunteered. Just look forward."

I do. I look forward into Haymitch's eyes and try to find the lie. He seems genuine enough.

"I didn't want to be with Gale, Haymitch. I didn't run away to be with him…maybe with the past, yeah. But I never…he was very possessive, I think. He wanted me pregnant so that I would stay. You have to believe me," I say.

"I do, I do," he says reassuringly. "I can't tell you why right now…maybe when you're better. Just know that I believe you."

"I have to tell you why I… why what happened…with him," I struggle for the words and look up at the camera sitting in the corner of the room. I know Flora or someone is watching and listening to our every word. "Let's get out of here and get something to eat. I'll tell you then."

Haymitch shakes his head. "They told me I can't take you out. You don't have enough points." I feel my face grow hot with anger. "You have to go to groups, Katniss. You need to take time for yourself to get better. Stop running from yourself. I did it for too long and I don't want that for you and I don't want that for Peeta."

_Peeta._

"Peeta said you haven't visited him at all," I tell him. "You should go see him and Johanna."

"I can't. I just came to see you," he says. "But it's time for me to be going." Haymitch pats my shoulder reassuringly. "See ya later, sweetheart."

I follow him toward the lobby. Suddenly, there is Peeta sitting in a lobby chair looking less than pleased.

"I knew I heard your voice," Peeta said. He looks over at me. "_Her_," he whispers. "You visit her and not me or Johanna? We've been here nearly two months now and Katniss is admitted and you hop on the next train to make it out here?" Peeta laughs and brushes a stray golden curl away from his forehead. "I knew it. Katniss was always your favorite. Johanna's had so many surgeries—_risky _surgeries—and you couldn't make it out here for her?"

"Stop," Haymitch says firmly. "Just stop. I know perfectly well about the surgeries. I don't agree with it at all but she's doing it and the doctors have told me that I cannot be around during the treatment and healing process. I cannot visit her."

"You aren't the person I thought you were, Haymitch," Peeta says softly but evenly. "I'm really disappointed."

"Peeta, I know you're really concerned about Johanna but you have to understand—" Haymitch tries to calm Peeta but he just shakes his head to will the words away. "Peeta, there's a lot you don't understand."

And then Peeta looks at me and then glares at Haymitch. "You're right. I don't understand anything, Haymitch. I really don't anymore."

Haymitch ignores the two of us, signs himself out, and is buzzed through the secure double doors. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look back.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

Hello! I'll try to have another update soon...hopefully I can write some more tonight when I'm home from my second job.

Who's excited for the Catching Fire trailer this upcoming Sunday? November is super far away.

EDIT: Wooops thanks for the correction, the masked-and-mysterious "Guest"! That really would make more sense now, wouldn't it? Haha. I'm such a ding-dong.

* * *

**CHAPTER 44**

"Attention patients, 'Fostering Good Relationships' will be starting in five minutes," a voice announces over the loudspeaker.

I groan and roll out of bed. It's a group in which Flora has registered me. I quickly look myself over in the mirror and hastily braid my hair and brush my teeth and head off to the group room.

There are a handful of patients there and, much to my chagrin, I find myself the last one to make it to group and I take a seat directly across from Peeta and Johanna. Johanna has a vacant look about her—not at all the acerbic, eye-rolling Johanna that I would have expected to see sitting in a group. I feel a twinge of pity for her. Peeta clearly avoids my gaze.

I begin to wonder if the surgery is worth it. I'd give just about anything to rid myself of the nightmares and the crippling anxiety but to remove synapses and to make me a completely new person…I'm not sure I could just do that. What I did—what we _all _did—had made a difference in many peoples' lives. There were a lot of bad things that happened but I still want to remember that, I realize. I want to ultimately remember that I had a purpose, that I was important. On days when it gets too hard…well, that's what having the occasional drink with Haymitch could fix. Or hiding from the world in Peeta's arms.

No, not that. I think I've closed that chapter for forever. I can't be too upset with him, though. Who could blame him? I haven't been especially warm over the years and he knows it. He'd give up anything for me, no questions asked. He'd hand me his entire world on a silver platter without a thought and _has_—time and time again. I've been distant and chilly at best, probably. I couldn't blame him for thinking what he thought or even for jumping to conclusions. It's much easier for me to keep him at arms' length, giving only what extras I have to spare. Peeta's been in harm's way so many times; how could I give him all of myself? So that if Peeta were gone from me forever, I'd have absolutely nothing left?

I'm pulled away from my thoughts when I realize that the room is absolutely silent and everyone is staring at me. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. Have I been talking aloud? Please tell me I haven't.

To my relief, I haven't. I have just been asked a question by the social worker, Aemilius, a 30-something man who, seemingly as required by the hospital, wore little make up but allowed himself pitch black nail lacquer to match his jet black hair. He has plucked his eyebrows to non-existence; otherwise, I'm sure they'd be smooshed up into two bushy, inquisitive caterpillars right now.

"Um, what?" I ask, after a while of attempting to cover for myself. I came up with nothing.

"What examples did your parents give you, Katniss?" he asks me.

"For what?" I ask. How long had I been in my head?

Aemilius sighs, clearly annoyed with my poor attention. "For relationships? What example was set forth for you as a child?"

"Oh," is all I say, considering the question. It had been so long since I'd thought of my pre-Games days and even longer since I had thought of my true childhood, prior to the death of my father. "Um…" I begin, clearly stuck.

"For example," Aemilius begins, attempting to either assist me or hurry me along, "Did your parents argue frequently? Was there infidelity or abuse of any sort?"

"No, no," I say, shaking my head. "Nothing like that…they were…um, they really loved each other. Really, truly," I say, surprising myself. I look down at a hangnail on my right middle finger and no hangnail has ever been as interesting as this one.

"How do you know?" probes Aemilius. "What nonverbal or verbal language did they use in their relationship?"

"Ohh…" I begin and trail off. I see my father's handsome, mirthful face with his light gray eyes and black hair without a stitch of gray. I hadn't truly pictured his face in so long. So, so long.

"He would…he loved to sing. He had a beautiful voice. But he worked in the mines for long stretches of time. He had to have been tired when he came home after working two or three days straight but he would always walk straight across the room to my mother and pick her up in his arms and give her a great big kiss. And she would brush the coal dust away from her face, pretending to be upset about the mess but had a huge smile on her face. Sometimes, he would sing 'Black Is The Color of My True Love's Hair' except he'd change the lyrics to 'blonde' instead of 'black.'" I stop, remembering the velvety smoothness of my father's voice and how it echoed throughout the house when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Your mom wasn't Seam, was she?" I expect Aemilius to ask this question but Aemilius could have never known it. I look up to see Peeta's soft blue eyes, still full of kindness despite his bitterness.

"No. She was a Merchant kid." I look down at that hangnail again, unable to bear the intensity of Peeta's gaze. I don't think he meant it. He can't help that his eyes are some weird window into his perfectly good heart that still give me goosebumps. "Her parents had owned an apothecary. They weren't rich by any means—there was only one rich person in Twelve—but they were never hungry. She had lovely dresses and time to play. Both of her parents were home with her at night. I saw a video of her once when she was sixteen. She was beautiful and had a well-known talent for healing. She could have chosen anyone in the District, probably."

"Even the richest person in the district?" Aemilius asks, maybe a little too absorbed in my story.

"Maybe," I consider, even though the likelihood that Haymitch would take a greater interest in anyone but himself is pretty unlikely. "But she chose my father. He was from one of the poorest families but, well, as she used to say, he was the richest in kindness and had a gentle heart. He always brought injured miners to her or risked his own safety to bring badly whipped or tortured people. He hated to see innocent people suffer for only being hungry."

"If someone was beyond saving, he used to sing to them to ease them into death," Peeta said quietly. I meet his gaze. "My father told me once," he added.

"It sounds like your parents had an ideal relationship," Aemilius says with a smile.

"Sure. Until after my father was killed in a mine explosion. My mother was no longer my mother and just sat in bed all day while her kids went hungry. We were already hungry and when my father died, it got worse. She couldn't take care of us and she couldn't take care of herself. I had to scrape together what I could to get by and take care of my sister myself."

Aemilius's smile fades and he nods his head. "And that's why you had to volunteer for your sister, a wonderful expression of love for your sister in the selfless example of your father."

I blink a few times and finally scrounge up a half-hearted, "Sure."

Not one to particularly enjoy silence, Aemilius turns his attention to Peeta.

"So, Peeta. You mention your father. What examples did your parents set for you?"

"My parents weren't like that. They were stand-offish. I think maybe they loved each other. I asked my father once and he said, 'Of course, we have three boys,' which, you know, that's not necessarily indicative of anything. When I got older, when I started liking girls, I couldn't talk to my older brothers without being teased. I asked my father again about getting a girl to like you and he told me that I shouldn't ask him…that he couldn't convince Mrs. Everdeen and he didn't seem to be able to convince my mother, either. I think my mother knew that my father still loved your mother," Peeta says, looking at me. "Maybe that's why she was so unhappy."

It's a weird conversation to be having in front of other people in a group.

"In District 12, there's the Seam and then there's Merchant's Row where all the middle class have their businesses," Peeta explains to Aemilius who looks a little lost at this point. "Seam marries Seam. Merchants marry Merchants. It's the way it is. You know so many of the Merchant girls like Delly were absolutely in love with Gale," He's talking to me now. "And the Merchant boys, we'd always tease them. There was a rhyme we'd say any time a Merchant girl liked a Seam boy. We'd tell them, '_Don't play in coal and be a tart 'cause dirty Seam boys break girls' hearts_.'" The room titters with laughter.

I roll my eyes. "Well that's nice." I'd heard a Merchant boy say that to Madge once when she and I were talking to Gale before school. It made me mad. Gale wasn't dirty and neither was I.

"It's true," I hear Johanna Mason's small voice pipe up. I almost didn't know it was hers. "Seam boys _do_ break girls' hearts." She doesn't look up from the scrolled engravings in the table. Peeta pats her hand. "It's okay. I didn't know that the stereotype isn't necessarily gender-specific." I thought maybe he would have meant it as a passive-aggressive jab, but his voice just sounds a little sad. His shoulders sag a bit, too and I begin to feel homesick with all this talk. Oddly, I feel homesick for _Peeta_ and I want to talk to him so badly. I want to reminisce.

But then Johanna's words echo in my ears. _Seam boys _do_ break girls' hearts. _Had Johanna once loved Gale but he turned her down so she, in turn, found herself in Peeta's arms to keep herself competitive with me? To keep herself relevant in the tabloids and in society?

After the session, we're dismissed to eat and Peeta walks Johanna back to her room. As they disappear into the room, I look down at my point card and find I've reached 1,000 points—enough to gain privileges to go out of the facility to meet Haymitch for lunch. I fold the paper back into its fuzzy creases and head to Flora's office.

"My dear Kat," Flora greats me with a big smile. I didn't tell her she could actually call me Kat but Tansy regularly calls me Katrina or Kristina. I figure I know who they're all talking to so who cares?

"Can you call Haymitch? Tell him I want to see him and go out on a pass? I've got my thousand points."

Flora claps her hands in delight, not unlike Effie used to do.

"When should I ask him to visit?" she asks.

"Is tomorrow too soon?"


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

CHAPTER 45

He strides in with a brimmed hat, indifferent to the others who seem captivated by him. I wonder if some of the other patients recognize Haymitch. Surely they must, but they say nothing and only stare. One loudly asks him for money.

"No, man. You know we'll both be in trouble if I give you money," Haymitch says without bothering to even give the man a sideways glance.

It had been confirmed that Haymitch would be signing me out for a maximum of four hours today so I was already prepared and showered for the day and had donned my simple pant and shirt set. I hadn't come with a full set of clothing like some of the other patients given the circumstances so the clothing came from the Closet. A capital "C" because it is the closet in which donated items from other patients go to be recycled or banished to eternal darkness.

Haymitch looks at me disapprovingly. "I guessed you might look like you just strode out of the Hob. Oh well, at least you bathed. Here, I brought you some of your clothes from home," he says, tossing me a medium-sized muslin drawstring bag. "Please go change so people on the street don't offer you money or a sandwich."

I go back to my room and open the bag. Sae must have put this together for me because the clothing is folded and appears to match. Were it Haymitch, it would be a wrinkled, balled up mess of mismatched prints. According to our daily board hanging on the wall in the great room, the weather today is "chilly" so I reach for a lightweight woven pullover and linen pants with my hospital-issued canvas shoes. It will be fairly obvious that neither of us is from around here, but anonymity is a thing of the very distant past so what does it matter, really?

I return to the lobby. "Eh, anything would be an improvement, I guess," Haymitch says, plunking his hat down on my head to…what? Cover my face, I guess.

He signs me out and we take a trolley to a small, nearby shop in which I find a frail, elderly man resting on a padded stool. He blinks a few times and tries to make us out. He clearly has poor vision but is perhaps too stubborn to buy glasses or have surgery.

"Welcome. What can I do for you today?"

"Cassius," Haymitch says, laughing, and clapping the old man on the back while embracing him in a hug. "Don't you recognize me anymore?" He asks.

"Haymitch, boy? Is that you? Haymitch Abernathy!" Cassius shakes his hand. "Long time no see." The man squints at me. "And uh…who is the little one? Johanna, my dear? How are you?"

"No, no, no," Haymitch laughs nervously, something I've never really heard him do. It's strange. "This is the infamous Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, this is Cassius. He was part of my prep team when I was a tribute."

"Oh my!" Cassius kisses my hand. "A big fan, my dear. An honor. Well," he wipes at his mouth with the corner of a hankie. "Any friend of Haymitch's is a friend of mine, of course."

"Well, now, Cassius, let's not go that far. She's more trouble than she's worth, that's for certain." It comes off as good-natured kidding around except that I know Haymitch legitimately feels that way.

"Well now, what can I do for you, Miss Everdeen?" Cassius asks me. I truly don't know what to tell him since I'm not entirely sure why we are here. Haymitch removes the hat from my head abruptly and Cassius releases an audible gasp. The contrast between my dark hair and dyed blonde hair is so stark that even the moderately blind can behold its beauty.

Cassius sets about mixing up a concoction for my hair and painting it on. "This will take no time at all, sweet Katniss," Cassius says soothingly. It will be nice to be fully transformed back to myself once again and to no longer catch glimpses of Prim in the mirror.

"So, what did you need to tell me?" Haymitch asks. I simply shake my head no before Cassius sharply sucks some air in between his teeth in protest and lightly smacks my shoulder as a warning to keep still.

"Cassius," Haymitch says sternly and extends an open palm to the old man. "Give me your hearing aid."

Cassius sighs and grumbles something "poor old man" something "peace and quiet" something. He digs deep into each ear and produces two tiny wax-covered hearing aids. Haymitch, on second thought, retrieves a tissue before accepting the hearing aids within its folds.

"As long as you keep her still," Cassius says, practically shouting now.

"Sure thing, boss," Haymitch replies.

"Huh?" Cassius asks rather loudly.

"See? He's not telling anybody," Haymitch says and instead just gives Cassius and thumbs up and a smile. "So what's your crazy delusion that you can't share with anyone else—not even the _love of your life_?"

I don't bother to address that separate issue.

"It isn't a delusion. Haymitch, I think Gale is developing some kind of…of…I don't know! Some kind of chemical or biological weapon of some sort."

Haymitch snorts. "The boy's clever, I'll give him that. But he's not that smart."

"No, he has a company working for him to do the specifics. I talked to one of the researchers. They all seem to be fairly young and recently graduated so I guess he can get them before they know any better."

Haymitch considers this for a moment while Cassius brushes color onto my hair. "Ok, so what did this researcher have to say? How do you know it wasn't a lie?"

Well, I don't. But—"It was pretty consistent with what Gale said about it."

"Why would Gale tell _you_?" Haymitch asks skeptically. I turn one side of my mouth up and look at him pointedly.

"Oh, a page out of the book of Finnick Odair, I see. How delightfully trashy of you," Haymitch laughs while patting me on the head. "Proud of you, kid. Too bad you aren't smart enough to figure out how not to get pregnant…or how to even get pregnant _correctly_." I could have done just fine without him knowing that personal bit of information. Now I'm pretty sure I'll be reminded of it every day of my life.

"Oh, I'm just giving you a hard time, Katniss. Anyway, what did Gale have to say about it?"

"He said something about how there are facilities in both Districts 12 and 13 and the research is about the infertility the 13 Pox caused," I tell him.

"Of course. Thirteen has been researching that for some time now. I'm not sure how that makes you leap to the conclusion that it's being used for biological warfare."

"Okay, but the researcher told me that they are trying to extract a dormant virus to be used. And I don't think it's just for research, either because they mean to keep it dormant until they can find a way to reintroduce it into the population. Dobbs didn't think it was just for research, either. He said as much."

Haymitch doesn't say much but I can see him mentally taking a note and tucking it away forever when it will be useful.

Cassius loudly announces that he's going to let the color set for a few minutes and then he'll be back. He begins to cough uncontrollably and Haymitch offers him his water. Cassisus refuses.

"I'll be just fine, Haymitch. I've just had a little cough ever since I got my pneumonia shot this year. Happens every year. It'll pass." Cassius must have been entering his sixth decade even when he was one of Haymitch's preppers. This seems ancient to me but people in the outlying districts rarely make it to their sixtieth year. The men rarely make it to their fortieth unless they're Merchant.

"Well, what am I supposed to tell Peeta when I get back? What am I supposed to say when he asks why you've never taken him out? He'll be hurt, Haymitch."

Haymitch sighs in annoyance. "It's not that I don't want to see Peeta. Believe me, he's far more pleasant of a companion than you. It's just that I don't want to have a specific conversation with him. Or with you, for that matter. But obviously, you're going to make me tell you."

Naturally, this piques my interest. "About what?"

"About Johanna. About her having her memory erased. About why the doctors and therapists have specifically barred me from seeing her at this time."

I'm fine with leaving it at that as I don't particularly care about the damaged Johanna Mason and I don't want to have to think in depth about how her damage is indirectly a result of my being rescued over her. Looking at Haymitch, though, I realize that he isn't going to leave it at that. And I'm not sure I want to know. In fact, it's turned out in my life that the less I know, the better.

"When Johanna won her games, she was just so young. Blight briefed her on what being a Victor meant, that Snow sold you to the highest bidder and used you in his political games as a spy. Johanna likes being prepared though and being one step ahead of her opponent. She didn't want to be taken off guard when she first went to the highest bidder so she asked Blight to uh, brief her on what might be to come, what to do, how to act, et cetera. At the time she was…God, I hate to think of it. She was thirteen, probably. So Blight wouldn't do it…maybe if Johanna had been a boy. But Blight should have done it since he was her mentor. Of all the other Victors, though, I must have the reputation as being the scummiest since he came to me to do his dirty work for him. Honestly, I can't blame the girl for wanting to be prepared and to be able to choose the situation in which she would first be exposed to sex. I respected her for that…for secretly defying the Capitol in her own way like that. I'm glad I was able to tell her so."

I just listen and say nothing. But in truth, I'm a little shocked.

"Oh, don't be so surprised. It was pretty commonplace, actually. Why do you think we Victors were all such good friends? But it was unusual that a mentee should come up with it on her own at the ripe old age of twelve or thirteen. Johanna was always bold like that."

"So…that's why you can't see her? Because you were together?" I ask.

"Well, that's not the whole of it. She was just too young and she…well, I don't know. She said she loved me…that she had fallen in love with me. I'm still not sure that I believe her to this day because she's a very calculated girl. I think she thought that if she were involved with me, an older and more established Victor, this would provide her with more protection from the Capitol. I know she tried it with Finnick but he had Annie. Plus, I think she realized there would have only been more backlash from the Capitol ladies." He pauses for a moment. "They tortured Johanna, yes, but they also hijacked her like they did with Peeta. We just didn't realize it because she had been managing the panic attacks relatively well with the morphling. It was when we ran out of it in District 12 after you left that I was able to see the full extent of her capture. They distorted her memories. They made her and Peeta both believe that you and I had become romantically involved and were plotting to kill the two of them so that neither could stand in our way in our ascension to the throne of Panem or something like that."

I shoot Haymitch a look of skeptic disbelief.

"It sounds crazy because it is. I wouldn't have believed it either except that Johanna tried to poison me once. Thankfully, Peeta caught her. Her decline was obvious for the two of us to see so we had her taken to the hospital. I saw her screaming and crying to the doctor with my own eyes about this supposed plot. She was hysterical."

I wonder if the conversation Johanna and I had about just picking somebody was somewhat influenced by this false belief. Was she trying to get me away from Haymitch intentionally? Maybe it was just coincidence.

"She's in a delicate state right now," Haymitch adds. "They're trying to erase those connections in her brain and seeing me will only reinforce the implanted memories."

I sigh, not really sure what to add to this bizarre conversation. "So you were perfectly fine with explaining this to me in detail but you can't tell Peeta."

"I can't bear to have Peeta think less of me than he already does," Haymitch says, genuinely sad for a moment and then switching back to default snark mode. "You, I don't care what you think. You're just as bad as the rest of us."

I should be offended but it's true. "Even at his worse, he's far less despicable than the rest of us. Even if he has slept with a hundred girls."

"Sweetheart, if you think that's all true, you're a bigger idiot than I thought. I sent the girls there to cheer him up with you having disappeared into thin air. He was happy to have new faces to sketch other than yours. Only Johanna was finally able to drag him out of his funk. I can understand why he feels a certain loyalty to her and why he could be so upset with the two of us."

"Yeah," I add. "We're pretty consistently disappointing." Haymitch smirks in agreement and it feels like our relationship—something between mentorship and friendship but not exactly either—is slowly beginning to regenerate.

* * *

When I return later in the evening, exhausted from the fresh air, Peeta looks up from the sofa on which he is sitting.

"How's Haymitch?" he asks with a hint of derision.  
"Oh, okay. He's his usual self," I say, plopping down next to him.

We sit in silence for a minute and I look out the window at the sun setting in the sky—two things I didn't realize I missed until I saw them both on a visit earlier today. Peeta follows my gaze.

"The sunset is pretty today," he comments and it reminds me.

"I got you something today," I tell him, and pull a small, neatly wrapped package of brown tissue paper from my satchel.

He takes the package from me. "Aw, you didn't have to bring me anything back," he says, unwrapping it. In it is a small leather-bound sketchbook and a package of pastels. Not the usual caliber of medium he's accustomed to but he left those all behind in Twelve.

I feel a smile creep onto my face before I realize he's holding his breath.

"I know it probably isn't what you normally use and it probably isn't that great of quality—"

"It's great, Katniss. Really. It's exactly what I needed."

And then he set to work, beginning to recreate an impression of the beauty of the orange and pink sunset that we are just able to glimpse through the small, filmy window set in the white cinderblock walls of the hospital. I lean my head near his shoulder to watch his powder-covered right hand bring the scene to life. When he stops, I shift my gaze to find him looking at me and suddenly, my lips are meeting his and it's like a sweet memory from long ago. It's all too brief, though when Peeta pulls away.

"I'm sorry. That—that wasn't right. Um, I'm just going to go take a nap. I'll talk to you later." I begin to walk away and his voice stops me.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks and I stop and turn toward him.

"Yeah?"

"Your um, your hair looks nice," he says.

"Thanks," I reply, bewildered that a compliment could make me feel so crestfallen.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

CHAPTER 46

It'd be a lie if I said I wasn't disappointed about that kiss. I was. But Peeta and I go to groups and pretend as though it hadn't happened. Something changed for me, though; where before I had felt resigned to the fact that Peeta and I had closed that chapter of our history together and that I had majorly screwed up, I now feel as though there may be a small sliver of hope for us. There may be a small possibility that feelings still exist on his end despite our impaired trust in each other. Life is especially quotidien here, though, and I'm not quite sure what to talk to him about anymore. Fortunately, though, one day there is a package addressed to both Peeta and myself. Our caseworkers have to be present when we open the package to ensure that friends on the outside haven't sent us illicit paraphernalia such as morphling or a bomb. No such luck, though. I see the package came all the way from Twelve and instead of bombs, it is bread. Peeta and I look at each other perplexed and then back at the package. Peeta bends down and picks up a note and begins to read it to me.

"_Kids,_

_Sae has been practicing some of Peeta's recipes that were a staple at the restaurant before you left. It's no replacement for the two of you. (Sae says that. Not me.) She wanted to send a sample and ask Peeta for his opinion and if the recipe needed any adjustments._

_I've also spoken with your caseworkers and we have decided it would be appropriate to phase you into community reentry. Most tailored to Peeta's interests would of course participating in a culinary arts apprenticeship. Since Katniss has no discernible interests other than complaining about things, I've decided she might as well join in on the apprenticeship and become a little more useful at the restaurant._

_Be sure to write Sae back. Miss you both._

_Sae and Haymitch"_

Peeta and I look at each other and laugh. Community re-entry! We can get out of this place every once in a while.

"Thank God," Peeta says with a relieved smile. "I was beginning to worry that I was becoming institutionalized."

"I think I already am," I say and add, "Well, it's clear who wrote which portions of the letter."

"Yeah, the 'miss you both' part has Haymitch all over it," Peeta responds sarcastically.

"Don't be too sure. I think he misses us most of all."

Peeta just kind of laughs but says nothing while the social workers put on gloves and break each loaf of bread in half to make sure there are no packets of pills or explosives.

"This seems excessive," I say to no one in particular.

Peeta shakes his head. "Well, this will be stale by tomorrow. Want to share these with me?"

"Sure. I doubt they want my opinion, though."

"No but I can't eat all of this myself and I'd hate to see it go to waste."

"Well, you can share it with Tansy. She eats just about anything," I tell him. It's true. Her stomach has gotten a bit large lately but she insists that she is full of babies and will be going to the maternity wing any day now to have them removed.

"You can't do that," a social worker reminds us. "What if it isn't part of someone's approved diet?"

I turn to Peeta and shrug. "Well okay, then. I'm the only other person to whom it's addressed so I guess the responsibility falls to me. Are there any cheese buns?"

We retreat with our goodies to Peeta's room so no one hounds us for handouts. We stay out of my room with Tansy being my roommate. Peeta's roommate, Mariuscz, sleeps all day except to go to one or two meals and the bathroom as needed. He's practically catatonic even then.

Having nothing else to talk about while we feast on baked goods, I turn the topic toward Mariuscz.

"So what's his deal?"

"Who?" Peeta asks once he's swallowed a bite of bread with bits of olives and red peppers baked in. I tilt my head to the unmoving lump beneath the blankets of the adjacent bed.

"Couldn't tell you. I don't even know what color eyes he has," he says, clearly nonplussed.

"Really?" I ask. "Lucky you. I'd trade you if I could." This makes Peeta smile a little.

"Why? Tansy seems sweet," he says, handing me a morsel of the aforementioned bread.

"Ohhh, she is." I take a bite and talk with the gob of bread nestled between my right cheek and gums. I feel a strange sort of satisfaction thinking about how this very action would send Effie into a fit. Peeta doesn't care, though. "She is nice, I give her that. She just goes on and on about things that aren't even real like how she's going to have eight babies removed from her stomach soon. I tell her it's because of all the snacks she gets in the mail from her family but she's insistent that I'm the one eating them, not her. Peeta, I don't even see them, she inhales them so fast."

"The other day she was talking about how she is only here for a few weeks while her family is rebuilding their home in District 3. She told me she'd probably be leaving this weekend. So there you have it…soon you will have a new roommate and you'll miss sweet Tansy," Peeta says matter-of-factly.

"Peeta," I say impatiently, "Tansy's lived here 23 years." He blinks uncomprehendingly. "She's not leaving, Peeta."

"Oh, well, there might be truth to it. You certainly sounded convinced when she was going on about it the other day. You told her to send you a postcard so that you could go visit her once you got out of here and that you'd play catch with her dog," he points out with a startling amount of detail. I just shake my head slowly.

"Her dog had to have died years ago. None of it's true Peeta."

"So you lie to her?" he asks, semi-accusingly.

"No, no. It's not like that at all. It makes her happy to think of these things. It gets her through the day. Why would I point out the reality of things to her?"

"Maybe she wants to know what's reality and what's not," he says. "Did she tell you she didn't?"

"No," I say. "I just…know. She gets this look on her face and…well, if it makes her happy to think she and I and Milton will be running free in the fields of District 3, then I'm happy to indulge."

"Milton?" Peeta asks.

"The dog," I respond and Peeta and I both laugh a little.

"That's really nice," he says and smiles at me with both his honest blue eyes and with his honest mouth. And then I remember when that mouth was on mine just a few days ago…and the times before. And when his skin was on mine and his hands were in my hair and his sweat dappled my bare skin and it's just too much that I have to break my gaze. I return my focus to the bread and take my new position as boulangerie aficionado very seriously.

We make meaningless comments about the bread and ultimately conclude that anything would taste gourmet now that our taste buds have become accustomed to the bland unimaginative hospital cuisine. We lose interest and abandon our task in favor of conversation now that we are beginning to slowly warm to each other. Eventually, we find ourselves talking about the unpleasant topic of healing and medications and therapy. As before, Peeta is on antiepileptics to stabilize his mood and prevent flashbacks and their accompanying rage. This is nothing new as he began these medications not long after his rescue.

"Well, the doctor put me on antidepressants when I got here," I admit to him. It's a sensitive topic for me, but Peeta knows what we are and that we struggle with ourselves each day.

"Do you feel different?" Peeta asks.

"I didn't at first. It takes a while to take full effect, I guess. I feel different now, though," I say.

"Like how?" he asks. At this point, he's begun to sketch me. Normally this would make me uncomfortable but being roommates with Tansy has made it easier for me to just go with the flow of things.

"I just feel more awake and like there isn't as much of a fog over my head. I don't want the Morphling like I used to. I still want it, sure. I feel more talkative, too and I just…well, it's stupid, but sometimes I just sing a little. Not loud but just to myself."

A sly smile creeps its way onto Peeta's lips and I know that it was a mistake to mention this. Before he can even make a request, my response is immediate.

"No, Peeta. Don't even ask," I say in warning. But he does it anyway.

"Oh, come on, Katniss. It isn't hard. Just sing a stanza."

"No. I'll wake up Mariuscz."

Just then, as if on cue, a caseworker knocks on the door and yells, "Staff!" before walking in.

"Mariuscz," she says. "We have your care plan meeting right now. I told you it was important for you to be there. Let's go."

The lump stirs and rises from his bed and wordlessly follows the caseworker out to the hallway.

"There, look at that," Peeta says, delighted. "Now you can't disturb him."

"Don't make me say it again, Peeta," I say, trying to disguise my mounting annoyance with a pleading tone of voice. Peeta sighs.

"What's the big deal?" he asks.

"It's just that…it's something I hadn't done much since my father died. But I always did for Prim if she asked. Some nights, she'd cry from the hunger pangs and I'd hold her and sing to her to distract her. And then there was Rue," I look down at my hands. I then look at Peeta's hands which have stilled mid-feather stroke. "I'm just so used to singing when I feel sad. I haven't gotten the hang of singing when I'm not sad. Something has to make me feel like happy singing."

"Okay, okay, fine. I relent," he concedes and returns to shading in the right corner of my lip. We're silent for a while, not sure how to repair the dissolved conversation. I hear Peeta swallow prior to drawing in breath to begin again.

"Well, what _has_ made you feel like happy singing?" he asks without looking up from his work. I don't think it was meant to be a loaded question but somehow I wasn't sure how to answer. My mind returns to the filmy windows and how electric the air felt and how the orangey-pink pastel smudged across his hand. His hand. And then I realize his hand has stopped again, the pencil stilled on my cupid's bow.

I think maybe it's been a long time that I haven't answered but I don't look up.

"I shouldn't have pulled away," he says quietly. When I look up to make sure he had actually said it, he abandons his pencil and reaches across the bed for my forearm, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine. My heart seems to have stopped for a moment in surprise but once it catches up to the present, it sends a flush of blood to my cheeks and I feel the heat rising up to them. I dare to wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. It feels so familiar and comforting and yet somehow, still new. I haven't kissed these lips as often as I should have over the years. When I touch him, it's still exploratory and I'm regretful to realize that I should know this by now. I should know every inch and every angle by heart. I should know where and how to kiss him to make his brain practically cease functioning. But I don't and someone else does and this makes me furious—furious with myself for the wasted time and the lost moments. He is mine and I am his. We survive. We're a team.

And that's all there is to it. And it was that simple this whole time.


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

CHAPTER 47

Johanna remains in her room all the time and Peeta and I have been requested to "respectfully provide her with her privacy". She is consistently bounced between the psychiatric wing and the acute care wing, the latter of which is her place of recovery following each surgical procedure to erase the tremendous miswiring of her brain. Why, I wonder, had it hit Johanna harder than Peeta who had experienced similar torture? Why did she gradually fall out of touch with reality little by little instead of been mad from the start as Peeta had? We all lose it a little differently and not one Victor has ever been the same. The brain is a mysterious and sometimes fickle thing.

I want to talk to Peeta about Johanna and I want to tell him why Haymitch can't see her but I don't. I suppose there is no reason that I couldn't; Haymitch never told me that it was not for sharing. Still, though, I feel bound to protect her privacy and the old Johanna's secrets. I assume that if she had cared for us to know, wouldn't it have come up in casual conversation about our mentor? It apparently used to be common knowledge so it's not like it was a big secret. Maybe she just assumed that we'd find out or had read about it in the tabloids years ago. Perhaps many of the inner districts had but in District 12, we could care less about the personal lives of Victors who had gained their celebrity by killing off our children because many of them had been afforded a better life in the first place.

It isn't long, though, before everyone is on isolation precautions for the flu. Just about everyone on the unit has contracted terrible stomach pains and fevers. Some have been moved to the acute care wing for advanced treatment of their illnesses. Peeta and I, perhaps being more robust than some of the others, appear relatively unscathed by the sickness. Despite this, though, we are not allowed to resume our community reentry internship at the bakery. It started off well enough. Peeta was more experienced so he rose early in the morning for the first shift at the bakery when there was the largest rush of customers. I arrived for the second shift just as Peeta was leaving. The bakery didn't need two interns underfoot at the same time on any given day so the two of us were separated. Some evenings at dinner, I could go sit near Peeta with questions about different techniques that I had somewhat learned but hardly retained. One day, he asked the therapists if he could borrow their thick, stress-relieving putty to help me with my techniques. We spent some hours in the therapy room practicing kneading dough, rolling dough, and braiding dough.  
"Braiding dough is really not the same as braiding hair," I told him once in defeat. He laughed and reassured me that it would just take a little bit of practice. So practice I did. I was very motivated to do well so that Peeta and I could be released together. Regardless of who is where, it's always easier to move forward when you have someone with whom to share the experience.

Now, though, our progress has come to a grinding halt. We can't risk infecting the city so Peeta and I have terminated our internships indefinitely and this has made me experience my depression more acutely. Having mostly just Tansy to talk to only adds to my disconnect with reality.

"I'm feeling bad. It will be time for me to have my babies soon," she tells me one night.

"Oh, my. You're not feeling well?" I ask.

"No, I feel really hot and sick to my stomach," she tells me languidly. I fear that Tansy, too, has contracted the flu and I'm next in line to get it. I can't stand throwing up.

"You need to let the nurse know," I tell her. "Maybe she can give you medicine or…or call the maternity ward."

Tansy makes a deep groaning sound. "No," she says. "I just don't have the energy. I'm so cold." She removes the blankets and shows me her bare arms. "Look at all the goosebumps!"

I turn my head to look at her goosebumps and feel my stomach sink. I'm not sure what they are but they aren't goosebumps, that's for certain. They're large and flat and look like blisters.  
_Don't touch anything_, I think to myself. And rush out the doorway to find a nurse.

I know I've seen a rash like this before…long ago, when I was very small. A woman brought her son, not much older than I had been, to my mother. He was a little boy I had known and had played with on the streets from time to time. I don't remember his name at all.  
The little boy had these same strange bumps and was feeling very sick. My mother pushed me out of the house right away, telling me to go play. From a distance, I could see that the woman left not long after, carrying the boy away.

I asked my mother about him later. She wouldn't tell me for a few days but eventually must have grown tired of my pestering.  
"Katniss," she said stroking my cheek, "Sometimes there are things in life that are beyond our helping. Sometimes we just have to let things happen as they are meant to happen."  
That was the day that she explained to me what it meant to die and how we shouldn't be afraid of death.  
"Did that boy go to the Hunger Games?" I asked her. A look of shock and sadness crossed my mother's face. Maybe she had hoped that I had been young enough at the time that the Games had not yet made an impression on me. Maybe she had hoped I had forgotten. My mother pulled me into her arms.  
"No, little one," she whispered. "He had a much better death than that."

I never saw his family after that day and a few weeks later, their house had been set on fire and burnt to the ground. I don't know what happened and I don't want to question it…but in retrospect, I have a sinking feeling that the whole family had become infected and shut themselves away and our neighbors, understanding the gravity of the illness's consequences, set the house aflame with the bodies inside. The well was destroyed. I watched the house burn down from my window.

Tansy was then promptly transferred to the acute care wing and a new room was found for me who as of yet, demonstrates no visible symptoms. I ask the nurses each day for updates on Tansy but the responses are always the same: "We cannot tell you."

I'm left with an eerie sense of loneliness and surprisingly, fear. For the first time in a long time, I'm afraid of death and find myself clinging to Life, sad that I had been spurning her all this time and had grudgingly been fighting my way through life only because of survivor's guilt. For the first time since Prim died, I feel like there's a reason to hold on that I can't quite put my finger on.

Soon, we're forced to eat in our rooms alone and the nurses with only come in our rooms with pastel yellow disposable gowns, gloves, face masks, goggles, and hair nets. What is happening? From what I can gather from the confines of my room, such a large majority of patients have been sent off the unit that finding space for each of us to have a single room is no longer an issue.

We're submitted to skin checks daily to ensure that we are not infectious and are now all given Vitamin C tablets to boost our immune systems. Water is constantly pushed on us. Anything I know of the world outside my room, I know because of staff wandering in and out occasionally. Still, though, no specifics and I'm beginning to think this is either a major catastrophic epidemic or no one really knows what's happening—or worse yet, both.

After two weeks of this, I hear a lot of commotion outside in the hallway_. Has someone broken in? Is there a fight?_ And then I hear a familiar voice…and the voice is once again Haymitch, getting progressively closer.

"I'm taking them out of here…yes and I don't care about your goddamn procedure, being in this place is killing them. I'm not going to have them taken from me after all I've done to keep them alive…"

The door bursts open suddenly and I'm already awake and ready.

"Get your things, Katniss—no, you know what. Leave them here. Wear what you have on. We'll burn them later," Haymitch says firmly.

"Where are we going?" I ask him. "Anywhere but here," he says. "Where's Peeta's room?"

I lead him down the adjacent hallway and into Peeta's room. Like me, Peeta is alert and sitting upright.

"Haymitch?" he asks in surprise, the first face-to-face contact he's had with him in months.

"We need to go, Peeta. Leave everything here but—oh well, put on your shoes, boy. Hurry…we need to avoid security somehow," Haymitch says.

The nurses don't physically stop him. Despite his consumption of large amounts of alcohol, Haymitch has remained in somewhat good shape. This, combined with his height and bad temper could make him terrifying at times. Leave it to security, they think. I'm sure of it.

Haymitch led the two of us down a back hallway. After roughly two flights, Peeta stops mid-step.

"Wait!" he commands. "What about Johanna?" He turns around and begins to climb. "We have to go back!"

I begin to turn to join Peeta in his rescue effort when Haymitch says, "No." I stop but Peeta doesn't listen.

"No!" Haymitch yells again. "Stop, Peeta. Johanna's dead."


End file.
